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i  IN  THE  SOUTHWEST 


j  The  Companion  Library,  j 


Number  12. 


PERRY  MASON  &  COMPANY, 
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.♦The  Companion  Library 


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/ 


IN  THE  SOUTHWEST. 


The  Companion  Library. 

Number  Twelve. 


SELECTIONS 
•  From  The  Youth's  Companion. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA  . 

M.  V.  MOORE. 

3 

THE  LUMBERMEN  OF  THE  SIERRAS  . 

.    WILLIAM  H.  RIDEING. 

7 

A  ROAD  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

GRACE  ELLERY  CHANNING. 

II 

CALIFORNIA  RAISIN-MAKING 

.     ELIAS  LONGLEY. 

15 

DEATH  VALLEY   

JACQUES  W.  REDWAY. 

21 

THE  QUEER  SURFACE  OF  NEVADA  . 

.     PHILIP  VERRILL  MiGHELS. 

25 

PYRAMID  LAKE  

M.  V.  MOORE. 

29 

THE  GRAND  CANON        .      .  . 

33 

CAVE-DWELLERS  OF  ARIZONA        PRESTON  H.  UBERROTH,  U.  S.  R.  M. 

39 

A  BUILDED  LAKE  

HELEN  FRANCES  BATES. 

45 

THE  OLDEST  AMERICAN  HOUSES 

HELEN  HUNT  JACKSON. 

50 

NEW  MEXICO  

.    SARAH  WINTER  KELLOGG. 

55 

ADOBE   

,    SARAH  WINTER  KELLOGG. 

61 

Copyright, 

1897. 

PERRY  MASON  i 

k  COMPANY, 

Boston,  Mass. 


The  Mariposa  Grove. 


The  Big  Trees  of  California 


The  Big  Trees  of  California  represent  the  largest  growth 
known  in  the  vegetable  kingdom  of  the  world,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  species  of  the  Eucalyptus  of  Australia. 

The  Grizzly  Giant,  one  of  the  most  famous  of  the  trees 
in  the  Mariposa  Grove,  has  its  first  limb  one  hundred  feet 
from  the  roots.  This  limb  is  six  and  one-half  feet  in  diameter. 
Nine  feet  from  the  ground  the  tree  is  twenty-seven  feet  in 
diameter,  and  below  that  height  its  thickness  increases.  The 
tree  stands  grim  and  grizzly,  far  apart  from  any  of  its  com- 
panions, in  sublime  and  solitary  grandeur. 

All  the  largest  and  most  prominent  of  the  Big  Trees  have 
their  distinguishing  titles.  Each  of  the  states  has  its  repre- 
sentative among  the  names;  and  many  of  America's  most 
famous  men  are  honored  in  the  appellations.  General  Grant 
has  a  namesake,  as  grim  and  stolid  as  the  great  general, 
who  was  present,  I  believe,  at  the  christening  of  the  tree. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  the  trees  lies  fallen  on  the  earth,  and 
is  called  the  Fallen  Monarch.  It  is  estimated  that  the  Fallen 
Monarch  was  about  four  hundred  feet  high,  and  nearly  forty 
feet  in  diameter.  The  bark  and  sap  are  now  gone,  but  the 
tree  still  measures  nearly  thirty  feet  in  diameter  as  it  lies 
prone  on  the  earth.  A  long  ladder  is  used  in  mounting  to  its 
crest. 

The  very  largest  of  the  Big  Trees  of  California  are  in  what 
is  known  as  the  Calaveras  Grove,  which  is  owned  by  private 
parties.  Among  these  there  is  a  dead  and  fallen  tree,  which 
is  supposed  to  have  been  forty  feet  in  diameter,  and  four 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  high.  It  is  estimated  that  it  has  been 
prostrate  a  thousand  years.  The  sap  and  bark  of  this  tree  are 
gone,  but  the  diameter  of  its  trunk  still  measures  thirty-four 
feet. 

The  tallest  tree  standing  is  called  the  New  York  tree ; 

rs 

<^ 

r 


4 


THE  BIG  TREKS  OF  CAI^IFORNIA. 


it  is  thirty  feet  in  diameter,  and  three  hundred  and  sixty-six 
feet  high.  There  is  another  tree,  not  so  tall,  which  is  thirty- 
seven  feet  in  diameter,  and  the  bark  alone  measures  thirty-one 
inches  in  thickness. 

In  the  Mariposa  Grove  there  is  a  tree  known  as  the 
Telescope.  The  trunk  is  a  hollow  cylinder,  open  at  the  top, 
about  one  hundred  feet  away.  The  cavity  at  the  base  is 
large  enough  to  shelter  half  a  dozen  men  on  horseback.  One 
of  the  largest  of  the  fallen  trees  is  also  hollow.    One  may 


through  the  base  of  the  very  tree  itself.  This  archway,  which 
was  bored  and  burned  through,  is  some  ten  feet  in  diameter 
and  twelve  feet  high,  and  on  each  side  there  yet  remains  ten 
feet  of  solid  wall  of  wood  which  supports  the  tree.  Into  the 
archway,  under  the  vertical  trunk  of  the  tree,  a  stage-coach 
drawn  by  four  horses  may  be  driven,  and  can  find  there  secure 
shelter  from  rain  or  storm  above. 

There  are  in  all  some  six  hundred  of  these  Big  Trees  in 
the  Mariposa  Grove.  Twenty-five  hundred  acres  of  land 
have  been  withdrawn  from  sale  by  the  general  government, 
and  they  are  now  kept  as  a  National  and  World's  Park,  held 
in  trust  forever  by  the  state  of  California  for  the  people  of  the 
world.    The  reservations  include  the  Yosemite  Valley. 


ride  in  at  the  lower 
end,  and  go  out  at  a 
knot-hole  one  hun- 
dred feet  up  the 
trunk. 


One  of  the  most 
remarkable  of  these 
gigantic  trees  stands 
directly  over  the 
broad  roadway  which 
has  been  constructed 
through  the  grove. 
There  is  an  archway 
for    the    drive,  cut 


THE  BIG  TRKKS  OF  CAI.IFORNIA. 


5 


The  park  is  usually  inaccessible  during  the  winter  and 
spring,  in  consequence  of  the  deep  snowfall  there,  but  it  is 
visited  during  the  summer  and  autumn  by  tourists  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  and  especially  by  people  of  the  Old 
World,  who  find  these  trees  of  very  great  interest. 

The  wood  of  these  big  trees  is  a  variety  of  the  cedar.  The 
Redwood  of  the  Pacific  is  of  the  same  family.  Some  of  the 
trees  standing  in  California  are  estimated  to  be  between  two 
and  three  thousand  years  old. 

The  heart  of  the  tree  is  thought  to  be  indestructible  by 
the  decay  that  is  usual  in  other  woods  exposed  to  atmospheric 
influences.  This  certainly  does  not  rot  under  ordinary  climatic 
action.  Furthermore,  the  wood  does  not  shrink  like  other 
timbers,  since  it  contracts  from  the  ends  and  not  from  the 
sides  or  edges,  as  is  usual  with  other  varieties. 

Specimens  of  these  trees  are  not  allowed  to  be  taken  by 
tourists  from  the  National  Reserv^ations.  Not  even  a  twig,  or 
shrub,  or  flower  is  permitted  to  be  plucked.  Policemen  and 
guards  are  stationed  throughout  the  parks  to  prevent  spolia- 
tion by  tourists.  There  live,  however,  upon  the  reservation 
licensed  parties  who  have  for  sale  the  seeds  of  this  species  of 
wonder- wood.    Foreigners  are  usually  the  heaviest  purchasers. 

Many  young  trees  of  the  Big  Tree  species  have  been 
started  in  various  parts  of  California,  and  are  now  growing 
thriftily.  They  are  found  in  the  streets  of  Los  Angeles,  San 
Bernardino  and  other  southern  California  cities.  Though  it 
might  be  supposed  that  a  tree  whose  age  is  reckoned  so  great 
would  be  of  very  slow  growth,  the  young  Sequoias  are  found 
to  grow  quite  rapidly.  The  Calif ornians  of  one  thousand 
years,  hence  may  see  them  in  their  full  prime. 


M.  V.  MOORK. 


The  Lumbermen  of  the  Sierras. 

Travelling  northward  among  the  mountains  from  Glen- 
brook  on  Lake  Tahoe,  we  were  appalled  by  the  desolation 
which  the  lumbermen  have  left  in  their  wake.  Clearing  a 
tract  of  every  sound  tree,  they  remove  to  another  locality,  only 
to  leave  behind  them  again  the  hastily-built  shanty  which  has 
sheltered  them,  and  a  litter  of  chips  and  decaying  boughs. 

We  rode  for  days  through  regions  stripped  bare,  and 
strewn  with  fragments,  where  broad  forests  once  existed. 
Here  arui  there  a  pine  or  fir,  that  has  been  rejected  on  account 
of  its  infirmity,  stands  alone,  and  seems  to  grieve  for  its  lost 
companions. 

As  often  as  they  move,  the  lumbermen  build  a  new  house 
and  furniture,  taking  only  the  cooking  utensils  and  bedding 
with  them.  The  old  house  is  left  open  to  be  blown  down  by 
the  wind,  crushed  by  the  heavy  winter  snows,  or  occupied  by 
anybody  who  comes  along.  Both  the  house  and  furniture 
are  frail,  and  the  latter  consists  in  most  cases  of  nothing 
more  than  two  or  three  benches  and  a  table  made  of  rough 
timber.  The  house  and  its  occupants  are  collectively  called 
a  camp. 

We  put  up  one  night  at  Marlette's  camp,  which  is  under 
Prospect  Peak.  The  men  had  not  come  home  when  we 
arrived,  but  the  cook  was  busy  preparing  supper.  He  was 
a  white  man  ;  most  cooks  in  the  Sierras  are  Chinese. 

We  had  pitched  our  tents,  and  were  waiting  for  our  own 
ration  of  bacon  and  bread,  when  a  great  clatter  of  hoofs  and 
voices  seemed  to  shake  the  mountains.  There  was  a  break 
in  a  neighboring  wood,  and  out  of  this  sprang  a  score  of 
men,  some  mounted  and  some  unmounted,  who  came  toward 
us  with  the  wildest  yells,  and  at  the  greatest  speed.  A  parcel 
of  schoolboys  let  out  on  a  brisk  autumn  evening  could  not 


8 


THK  LUMBERMEN  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 


have  been  gladder  than  these  big,  rough  lumbermen  were  at 
the  end  of  their  day's  labor. 

After  dark,  we  went  into  the  cabin  in  which  the  men  were 
eating.  The  long  table  was  covered  with  dishes,  and  around 
it  gathered  as  hungry  a  crew  as  ever  relished  unlimited  beef- 
steak, potatoes  and  onions.  It  was  an  excellent  supper. 
Beside  the  more  substantial  things,  there  were  pickles,  fresh 
butter,  hot  bread,  cake  and  tea.  There  were  candles,  too, 
and  a  good  deal  of  them  must  have  got  into  the  food,  as  one 
was  stuck  into  the  spout  of  a  coffee-pot,  another  into  the  neck 
of  a  syrup-bottle,  and  another  into  a  crack  of  the  table. 
Nobody  minded  this,  however,  and  everybody  ate  with  the 
appetite  of  a  giant. 

When  supper  was  over  and  the  table  cleared,  a  fiddle  was 
brought  out,  a  very  old  and  tuneless  fiddle  indeed,  but  its 
squeaking  afforded  the  company  vast  satisfaction,  and  stirred 
them  to  some  extraordinary  antics,  which,  as  a  matter  of 
courtesy  rather  than  of  fact,  were  called  a  dance.  Some  of 
the  quieter  men  retired  into  corners,  and  read,  or  wrote  letters 
home. 

Home  seemed  to  be  very  far  away  as  we  left  the  cabin  and 
saw  its  little  windows  shining  ruddily  in  the  dark  night. 
The  snowy  peaks  were  all  around,  looking  terribly  lonely  and 
massive  under  the  starlit  California  sky ;  the  pines  were 
densely  black  ;  our  own  camp-fire  cast  off  mysterious  wreaths 
of  smoke ;  but  the  little  settlement  of  men  took  some  of  the 
sadness  away  from  the  scene. 

The  lumbermen  work  in  the  mountains  until  winter  drives 
them  to  the  lowlands.  Their  wages  are  about  fifty  dollars 
and  board  a  month.  Many  Chinamen  are  also  employed, 
but  they  are  not  treated  so  well  as  the  whites.  They  live  in 
camps  by  themselves,  and  rude  as  the  cabins  of  the  Americans 
are,  theirs  are  ruder.  Four  or  five  logs  laid  on  top  of  one 
another  make  the  walls  of  John  Chinaman's  mountain  house, 
and  three  holes  answer  for  door,  chimney  and  window. 

Various  devices  are  used  in  transporting  the  wood  from 


THK  IvUMBKRMKN  OF  THK  SIKRRAS.  9 

the  mountains  to  the  sawmills.  I  was  riding  through  the 
Truckee  Canon  one  day,  when  a  cloud  of  spray  rose  from  the 
river  above  the  shrubs  on  the  brink,  and  I  was  in  some 
perplexity  as  to  the  cause  of  it  before  I  discovered  a  sign- 
board cautioning  passers-by  to  look  out  for  the  logs.  A 
trough  or  slide  extended  down  the  canon-wall,  which  was 
almost  perpendicular;  it  was  bound  with  iron  bands  that 
shone  like  burnished  silver,  and  down  this  the  logs  were 
shot  with  great  velocity  into  the  water,  which  floated  them  to 
Truckee  town.  The  fact  that  the  trough  crossed  the  road, 
and  that  a  traveller  might  be  much  startled  by  the  sight  of  a 
pine-tree,  four  or  five  feet  in  diameter,  suddenly  rushing 
under  his  horse's  nose,  made  no  difference  to  the  lumbermen, 
who  by  this  simple  contrivance  were  saved  the  trouble  of 
hauling  the  wood. 

When  a  wagon  is  used  for  conveying  logs  it  is  of  the 
peculiar  kind  shown  in  our  illustration,  which  represents  a 
load  of  some  seventeen  thousand  cubic  feet,  the  largest  ever 
transported  in  California.  The  wheels  of  the  wagon  are 
circular  sections  of  the  pine,  convex  in  shape  and  bound  with 
broad  iron  tires.    The  draught  animals  are  oxen. 

The  flumes  through  which  the  wood  from  the  sawmills 
is  floated  to  the  plains  are  V  shaped  troughs.  Sometimes 
they  are  laid  down  the  mountainside,  and  then  they  are 
bridged  over  deep  chasms  on  trestle-work  supports.  One  of 
them  is  over  forty  miles  long,  and  cost  nearly  three  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to  build.  The  current  of  the  water  is 
considerable,  and  takes  the  wood  from  the  summit  to  the 
railway  at  the  rate  of  thirty-five  miles  an  hour. 

The  large  number  of  men,  the  enormous  capital  and  the 
ingenious  appliances  used  make  the  lumber  business  of  the 
Sierras  very  interesting ;  but  no  one  can  help  regretting  the 
havoc  it  is  causing  in  the  lovely  country  around  Lake  Tahoe. 


W11.1.1AM  H.  Ridb;ing. 


Echo  Mountain. 


A  Road  of  the  Sierras. 


We  looked  doubtfully  at  the  strange,  white  chariot,  and 
then  at  the  apparently  perpendicular  line  up  Echo  Mountain, 
in  southern  California,  where  the  cable  slid  over  its  succession 
of  wheels.  Should  we  venture  on  the  ascent?  The  cable 
looked  small  and  the  mountain  large,  and  the  end  of  cable, 
track  and  journey  was  hidden  in  the  clouds. 

But  for  the  fear  of  ridicule  some  of  us  would  have  refused 
to  go  higher  ;  we  could  so  easily  have  returned  to  the  valley 
below  in  the  same  electric  cars  that  brought  us  up  to  the  foot 
of  the  cable  road  !  But  the  driver  or  conductor  of  the  white 
chariot  was  waiting  ;  so  we  shut  our  eyes  and  stepped  into 
one  of  the  seats. 

The  conductor  gave  a  signal,  and  suddenly  the  bottom 
began  to  drop  out  of  everything,  and  we  to  rise  over  the 
tops  of  things  in  general.  Awful  canons,  big  mountains  and 
mighty  plains  rolled  out  beneath  us  ;  there  seemed  no  reason 
why  we  should  not  continue  to  rise  forever. 

Up  and  up  and  up  !  Weights  seemed  on  my  eyelids  ;  that 
horrible  cable  incline  appeared  to  run  from  my  eyes  to  my 
heart ;  I  secretly  longed  to  lie  down  on  the  floor,  and  I  am 
sure  the  others  felt  similar  sensations. 

"  We  are  now  approaching  the  steepest  part  of  the  grade, 
a  rise  of  sixty-two  feet  in  a  hundred,"  came  soothingly  to  our 
ears  ;  and  the  dreadful  slant  seemed  to  become  truly  perpen- 
dicular. Yet  we  held  to  our  pretence  of  decent  tranquillity, 
and  were  pulled  steadily  and  gently  over  the  crest  of  the 
mountain  to  the  level  top.  There  our  chariot  stopped,  as 
noiselessly  as  it  had  started,  and  we  stepped  out  and  looked 
straight  down  from  Echo  Mountain  to  the  world  below. 

I  have  seen  some  of  the  most  famous  and  beautiful  valleys 
of  the  world,  but  they  all  seem  tame  compared  with  the 


12 


A  ROAD  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 


great,  glowing  plain  of  tender  green  and  soft  purple  which 
stretched  its  groves  of  southern  fruit  out  to  a  golden,  shim- 
mering, distant  something  which  was,  we  knew,  the  Pacific 
Ocean.  Santa  Catalina  Island,  sixty-five  miles  away,  shone 
bright  and  clear  in  purple. 

After  we  visited  the  menagerie  on  the  top  of  the  mountain, 
we  gave  ourselves  up  to  gazing  on  the  beautiful  scenery,  and 
to  watching  the  white  chariots  skim  swiftly  up  to  the  summit, 
or  drop  noiselessly  over  the  verge. 

Though  this  Echo  Mountain  cable  road  is  said  to  be  the 
steepest,  it  is  considered  the  safest  mountain  railway  of  the 
world.  The  contrivance  is  practically  a  great  elevator.  Its 
ascending  and  descending  coaches,  welded  to  the  cable  itself, 
precisely  balance,  and  pass  each  other  at  a  given  point  by 
automatic  switches. 

As  the  cable  has  been  tested  to  a  hundred  tons'  strain,  the 
white  chariots  when  loaded  to  their  utmost  capacity  are 
small  weights  for  it.  Should  anything  go  wrong  with  the 
machinery  the  chariots  would  simply  stop,  and  the  occupants 
be  enabled  to  dismount  at  their  leisure.  Though  the  structure 
looks  quite  unsafe,  it  is  really  perfectly  guarded  against 
disaster. 

In  the  power-house  the  big  wheels  and  revolving  cable 
turn  slowly,  governed  by  the  dynamo,  but  the  primary  force 
or  motor  of  the  cable  road  is  water.  Running  through  a  six- 
inch  pipe,  and  finally  through  an  inch-and-a-half  nozzle  upon 
a  wheel,  it  transmits  a  pressure  so  enormous  that  one  might 
better  go  down  the  incline  without  a  cable  than  stand  in  front 
of  that  harmless-looking  nozzle.  That  inch  and  a  half  of  water 
is  capable  of  going  through  the  body  of  a  man. 

We  watched  the  light  go  out  of  the  landscape  and  fade 
over  the  Pacific  as  we  sat  on  the  piazza  of  the  pretty  hotel, 
which,  with  all  its  refinements  of  modern  luxury,  must  have 
travelled  up  piecemeal  in  the  white  chariots.  It  now  sits 
perched  on  the  very  verge  of  space,  a  kind  of  stationary 
white  chariot,  itself.    Round  on  the  other  side  were  softly 


A  ROAD  OF  'THK  SIEJRRAS. 


13 


flying  the  echoes  which  give  the  mountain  its  name,  but  on 
our  side  it  was  very  still. 

A  little  higher  up,  on  a  rounded  knoll,  gleamed  the 
metallic  walls  of  the  observatory,  which  we  meant  to  visit 
after  we  had  seen  the  great  search-light,  on  the  platform  just 
below  us.  That  long  finger  of  light  had  come  reaching 
through  our  windows  down  in  the  valley  many  a  night.  Its 
beam  makes  bright  the  streets  of  lyos  Angeles,  twenty-five 
miles  away,  and  carries  a  ray  to  distant  Redondo,  on  the 
Pacific  itself. 

Now  its  ray  of  light  went  sweeping  across  the  plain  below, 
resting  here  and  there  where  a  red  light  signalled  for  a 
visit.  Down  below,  that  beam  had  almost  dazed  us  with  its 
brightness ;  here  we  could  stare  into  the  very  eye  of  the 
monster  without  blinking,  for  the  rays  do  not  focus  so  near. 

Away,  back  and  forth,  went  the  finger,  now  stretching  out 
into  a  full  band  of  light,  now  narrowing  to  so  fine  a  line  that 
it  could  be  but  barely  perceived.  Some  spectators  with  inter- 
cepting mirrors  caught  and  flashed  a  ray  here  and  a  ray  there, 
into  the  shadows  of  the  canons,  on  the  observatory  roof,  or 
back  to  the  hotel  piazza. 

From  watching  the  light  we  went  to  the  observatory,  which 
contains  a  beautiful  sixteen-inch  glass.  The  perfect  clearness 
of  the  atmosphere  makes  southern  California  the  paradise  of 
astronomers.  We  had  looked  through  larger  glasses,  but  not 
at  such  a  height,  and  the  elevation  of  thirty-five  hundred  feet 
above  the  murky  air  of  the  sea-level  seemed  to  bring  the 
stars  perceptibly  nearer. 

We  had  beheld  the  sea  and  the  dry  land  and  the  heavens  ; 
there  was  nothing  else  but  the  wider  land  of  dreams  to  explore. 
Since  we  planned  to  come  forth  again  at  sunrise,  we  took 
a  parting  glance  at  the  constellation  of  cities  on  the  plain  at 
our  feet.  It  was  a  fascinating  sight,  even  after  the  other 
constellations,  and  a  significant  one  as  well ;  we  could  easily 
forecast  the  merging  of  twinkling  city  with  twinkling  city, 
and  imagine  the  time  when  one  great  city,  stretching  from 


14 


A  ROAD  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 


mountains  to  sea,  will  be  a  chief  glory  of  the  country  we  will 
still  call  great. 

An  unkind  fog  saddened  our  sunrise  the  next  morning,  so 
that  we  were  glad  to  console  ourselves  by  talking  with  a 
workman,  who  looked  over  the  terribly  beautiful  abyss  and 
said  wearily  that  folks  came  there  and  made  a  fuss  about  it, 
but  he  was  sure  he  didn't  see  why. 

At  last  we  turned  our  steps  toward  the  chariot,  which  was 
kindly  waiting  to  drop  us  over  the  brink.  This  time,  instead 
of  the  bottom  dropping  out  of  things,  it  was  the  top  of  every- 
thing which  rose  and  soared  away,  while  we  went  slipping 
down  through  space,  until  it  was  in  a  kind  of  wonder  that  we 
found  ourselves  above  the  ground  when  we  stopped. 

In  eight  minutes  we  were  among  the  ferns  and  oaks  of  the 
canon  ;  in  another  fifteen  we  sped  between  the  fields  of  wild 
flowers ;  in  half  an  hour  more  we  stood  in  our  own  rose 
garden,  with  the  scent  of  the  orange  groves  heavy  about  us  ; 
and  from  the  tropic  of  our  palms  and  bananas  and  lime  and 
lemon  we  could  gaze  straight  up  to  the  snowy  Sierras,  and 
mark  a  slender  white  line  cutting  the  purple  side,  the  route 
of  the  white  chariots. 

Grace  Ellery  Channing. 


California  Raisin-Making. 


Until  within  a  few  years  all  the  raisins  consumed  in  the 
United  States  were  imported  from  Europe.  It  was  supposed 
that  they  could  not  be  produced  in  this  country  because  its 
climate  was  not  warm  enough  and  dry  enough,  for  a  season 
of  sufficient  length  for  the  purpose.  But  when,  in  1849, 
California  was  invaded  by  American  gold-hunters,  they  not 
only  found  the  largest  and  finest  grapes  growing  they  had 
ever  seen,  but  discovered  that  the  surplus  quantities  left  on 
the  vines,  after  ripening,  became  raisins  ! 

These  raisins  were  not,  however,  of  the  best  quality,  for 
the  vines  on  which  they  grew  were  such  as  the  Franciscan 
fathers  brought  with  them  from  Spain,  a  hundred  years 
before,  when  sent  among  the  native  Indians  who  then 
lived  on  this  Pacific  coast. 

But  enterprising  Americans,  aided  by  foreigners  from  the 
wine  and  raisin-making  countries  of  Europe,  imported  many 
varieties  of  the  best  kinds  of  vines  that  could  be  found. 
Among  these  were  the  white  Muscatels  and  Malagas,  from 
which  the  best  raisins  are  made. 

The  white  grapes  have  flourished  well,  especially  in 
southern  California,  where  the  long  . warm  and  dry  seasons 
are  more  favorable  for  making  raisins  than  further  north. 
The  entire  absence  of  rain  for  the  six  continuous  months, 
May  to  November,  and  almost  complete  freedom  from  fogs 
or  dews  in  many  localities  during  the  ripening  and  drying 
season,  render  this  the  most  favorable  climate  in  the  world 
for  producing  raisins. 

The  grape-vine  here  is  not  staked  and  tied  up,  in  order  to 
keep  the  fruit  from  the  ground,  as  is  done  in  the  Middle  and 
Eastern  States.  It  begins  bearing  the  second  year  after 
planting  the  cuttings,  and  for  several  years  is  allowed  to 
trail  on  the  ground,  after  being  cut  back  each  season,  so  that 


i6 


CALIFORNIA  RAISIN-MAKING. 


the  fruit  hangs  very  low,  and  most  of  it  even  lies  upon  the 
ground.  It  is  believed  to  ripen  better  on  the  dry,  sandy  soil 
than  when  suspended  in  the  atmosphere,  which  is  always  cool 
at  night. 

As  the  roots  grow  older  the  main  stalk  of  each  is  trained 
to  a  tree  shape,  twelve  to  thirty  inches  high,  and  in  some  old 
vineyards  these  stumps  have  reached  a  diameter  of  from  six 
to  ten  inches.  The  stumps  are  trimmed  closely  every  winter 
or  early  spring,  and  from  their  tops  new  sprouts  spring  forth 
which  bear  the  next  crop  of  fruit.  The  yield  of  grapes  is 
enormous,  ranging  from  one  ton  to  two  or  three  tons  per  acre. 

Very  few  vineyardists  manufacture  their  grapes  either  into 
wine  or  raisins.  It  requires  more  knowledge,  skill  and  capital 
to  do  either  than  the  mere  farmer  generally  possesses.  But 
the  raisin-makers,  like  the  wine-makers,  generally  own  and 
cultivate  a  vineyard  of  from  one  hundred  to  one  thousand 
acres,  and  there  is  one  in  lyos  Angeles  County  covering  five 
thousand  acres,  the  largest  in  the  world,  as  a  basis  of  opera- 
tions, and  in  addition  the  owners  buy  all  the  grapes  that  are 
raised  near  them  by  the  smaller  cultivators. 

Several  methods  of  drying  grapes  into  raisins  are  practised 
by  the  smaller  cultivators.  The  following  is  the  most  popular, 
and  may  be  seen  in  operation  at  almost  every  country  and 
village  house  in  southern  California.  Some  time  in  September 
or  October,  small  quantities  of  the  finest  Muscatel  grapes  are 
bought  at  one  cent  a  pound.  Some  of  the  bunches  weigh 
from  two  to  five  pounds,  so  large  that  they  have  to  be  cut  in 
pieces  to  dry. 

They  are  spread  out  as  thinly  as  possible,  no  bunch  on 
top  of  another,  on  some  sunny  porch  floor,  on  the  roof  of  a 
house  or  shed,  or  on  trays  made  of  laths  or  shakes,  as  the 
Californians  call  the  redwood  clapboards,  and  placed  upon 
trestles  in  the  yard.  Here  they  lie  in  the  hot  sun  all  day 
long,  and  after  they  begin  to  color  and  shrink  are  generally 
covered  at  night  with  some  kind  of  canvas. 

In  two  or  three  weeks  the  bunches  are  carefully  turned 


CAI^IFORNIA  RAISIN-MAKING. 


17 


over  and  allowed  to  continue  drying  for  another  two  or  three 
weeks,  until  they  are  thoroughl}^  colored  and  the  juice  has  all 
evaporated.  Thus  thousands  upon  thousands  of  families  are 
now  making  their  own  raisins  at  a  very  small  cost. 

But  now  for  the  way  in  which  raisins  are  made  to  sell. 
The  grape-grower,  if  he  cultivates  but  eight  or  ten  acres,  can, 


Raisin-Making. 


with  the  aid  of  wife  and  children,  gather  his  own  fruit  and 
haul  it  to  the  raisin-maker ;  but  if  he  is  a  man  of  means,  and 
manages  his  hundred  or  more  acres,  he  hires  a  force  of 
Chinamen,  who  with  crooked  pruning-knives  go  through 
the  vineyards,  clip  off  all  the  ripe  bunches  of  grapes  and 


i8 


CAI.IFORNIA  RAISIN-MAKING. 


place  them  carefully  on  shallow  trays  three  by  six  feet,  and 
four  inches  deep,  avoiding  the  possibility  of  bruising  them. 

These  trays,  when  filled,  are  gathered  up  and  loaded  into 
two-horse  spring-wagons  and  hauled  up  many  miles  into  level 
places  among  the  foot-hills  of  the  mountains  to  get  out  of  the 
danger  of  fogs  which  often  rise  late  in  the  season  on  the  lower 
plains. 

Here  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  acres  of  as  level  land  as  can 
be  found  has  been  scraped  and  rolled  smooth.  On  these 
fields  the  grapes  are  spread  upon  the  ground,  by  drawing  the 
bottom  from  each  tray  and  letting  them  drop  gently  on  their 
warm  bed.  They  are  thus  emptied  in  successions  of  rows, 
hundreds  of  feet  long  and  of  uniform  width,  from  dozens  of 
wagons  that  come  and  go  day  after  day,  from  every  direction. 

Such  grape-fields  resemble  an  immense  carpet  store,  where 
every  imaginable  pattern  of  goods  is  rolled  out  in  the  hope  of 
pleasing  some  fastidious  customer.  The  freshly-laid  rows 
present  a  light  green  shade  of  color.  Those  that  have  been 
down  a  few  weeks  have  a  mottled  appearance,  while  those 
that  are  about  dry  enough  to  come  up  have  a  deeper  and 
more  uniform  color. 

For  the  reason  that  the  dry  soil  retains  its  warmth  during 
the  night,  grapes  dry  quicker  on  the  ground  than  if  elevated 
on  boards,  and  they  also  more  completely  retain  their  flavor. 
In  two  weeks  the  smaller  bunches  are  ready  to  be  gathered 
up  and  the  larger  bunches  turned  over  so  as  to  be  dried  on 
the  under  side.  This  requires  two  weeks  longer,  when  they 
are  taken  up  also.  Then  follow  the  gleaners,  women  and 
children,  who  gather  up  all  the  loose  berries  that  have  fallen 
off.    These  are  sold  as  dried  grapes. 

When  the  later  crop  is  on  the  ground,  and  the  first  showers 
are  expected,  raisin-dryers  bring  upon  the  field  great  rolls  of 
oiled  Manila  paper  ;  and  at  night,  or  when  rain  is  threatened, 
this  paper  is  spread  upon  the  rows  of  grapes  for  the  purpose 
of  keeping  them  dry.  This  process  is  sometimes  continued 
until  late  in  December. 


CALIFORNIA  RAISIN-MAKING, 


19 


The  dried  grapevS  are  put  into  boxes  holding  about  a 
bushel,  and  hauled  to  the  packing-house,  where  they  are 
piled  on  top  of  each  other  as  high  as  the  ceiling  or  roof.  In 
the  course  of  eight  'or  ten  days  the  slight  moisture  left  in 
some  of  them,  and  the  heat,  cause  them  to  sweat,  and  this 
moisture  so  permeates  the  whole  bulk  as  to  give  them  a  soft 
and  fresh  appearance.  They  are  then  ready  for  sorting  and 
boxing.  This  is  done  by  women  and  Chinamen,  seated,  forty 
or  fifty  in  a  room,  at  long  tables. 

To  each  is  emptied  as  needed  a  box  full  of  fruit ;  and 
alongside  of  each  are  placed  two  new,  clean  boxes,  into  one 
of  which  the  largest  and  most  perfect  bunches  are  packed, 
which  are  labelled  *'  I^ondon  Layers,"  and  into  the  other  box 
the  smaller  and  less  perfect  bunches,  which  are  labelled 
simply  "Layers,"  or  as  some  California  raisin-makers  are 
now  taking  pride  in  stamping  them,  "California  Layers;" 
while  the  loose  berries  are  passed  through  a  windmill  and 
cleaned  of  their  stems  and  dust,  and  boxed  as  "Loose 
Muscatels."  Though  most  of  them  are  the  finest  berries  of 
the  crop,  they  sell  for  a  much  lower  price  than  those  adhering 
to  the  stems. 

Three  sizes  of  boxes  are  made,  one  to  hold  five  pounds, 
another  fifteen  pounds,  but  the  largest  number  to  hold  twenty 
pounds  ;  and  as  the  boxes  are  filled  heaping  full  a  careful 
inspector  examines  and  weighs  each,  taking  out  any  surplus, 
and  passes  them  to  the  press-man,  who  places  on  the  lids  and 
puts  them  in  the  press,  where  they  are  gradually  squeezed 
down  and  the  lids  nailed  on. 

They  are  then  ready  to  be  shipped  to  their  Eastern  and 
Northern  markets  by  the  carload  —  about  one  thousand  boxes 
to  the  car.  But  as  they  are  not  considered  perishable  goods, 
like  oranges,  lemons  and  pears,  they  are  not  rushed  off, 
regardless  of  demand  or  prices.  The  consequence  is,  they 
have  a  steady  as  well  as  ready  sale  at  prices  which  afford  a 
very  fair  profit  to  the  enterprising  manufacturer. 

E1.IAS  LONGLKY. 


1 


Death  Valley, 


Death  Valley  derives  its  name  from  the  fact  that  the 
majority  of  a  party  of  emigrants  who  attempted  to  traverse  it 
perished  from  thirst  and  the  intense  heat.  In  all  probability 
quite  as  many  would  have  perished  had  the  party  attempted 
to  cross  the  Mohave  or  the  Colorado  desert  at  any  other  point, 
without  knowing  the  location  of  the  few  springs  and  natural 
reservoirs. 

Had  the  leader  known  something  about  the  character  of 
the  country,  or  had  he  taken  the  precaution  to  employ  an 
Indian  guide  to  pilot  him  to  King's  Springs,  it  is  highly 
probable  the  party  would  have  made  the  trip  with  no  more 
danger  than  attends  a  journey  through  any  part  of  this  region. 
Knowing  the  location  of  the  few  springs  and  tanks,  or  natural 
reservoirs,  one  may  safely  travel  through  either  desert  at  any 
season  of  the  year.  Without  this  knowledge,  however,  it  is 
almost  certain  death  to  attempt  it,  especially  in  summer. 

Death  Valley  is  situated  in  Inyo  County,  California.  It  is 
a  small  portion  of  the  desert  region  which  forms  a  part  of  the 
Great  Basin.  It  lies  between  two  low  granite  ridges,  and  is 
the  northern  extremity  of  a  depression  extending  into  lower 
California.  This  depression  possesses  one  remarkable  feature  : 
nearly  every  part  is  below  sea-level.  It  contains  a  number  of 
dry  lake-basins,  one  of  which,  the  sink  of  the  Amargosa 
River,  practically  constitutes  Death  Valley. 

Another,  somewhat  larger,  is  the  sink  of  the  San  Felipe 
River,  better  known  as  Conchilla  Valley.  Both  stream  beds 
are  now  nothing  but  dry  washes,  though  at  some  former  and 
not  greatly  distant  time  each  must  have  carried  a  considerable 
volume  of  water.  After  the  lakes  had  become  dry  the  saline 
deposit  left  by  the  evaporation  of  their  waters  was  quickly 
covered  by  the  dust  carried  thither  by  sand-storms,  and  in  a 
few  places  only  is  the  deposit  left  uncovered. 


22 


DEATH  VAI^LEY. 


At  King's  springs,  Death  Valley  is  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet  below  sea-level,  though  it  is  probable  that 
there  are  places  where  the  depression  below  mean  tide  may 
exceed  three  hundred  and  fifty  or  four  hundred  feet.  A  few 
miles  distant  from  Dos  Palmas,  now  a  station  on  the  Southern 
Pacific  Railway,  the  writer  found  a  point  in  Conchilla  Valley 
three  hundred  and  twenty  feet  below  the  sea-level ;  Dos  Palmas 
itself  is  two  hundred  and  sixty-one  feet  below. 

The  reputed  volcano  in  this  valley  is  nothing  more  than  a 
hot  spring,  and  the  alleged  eruption  consisted  merely  of  a 
sudden  and  very  large  increase  in  the  flow  of  water, 
accompanied  by  ejection  of  mud.  It  is  probable  that  a  hot 
spring  had  previously  existed  at  that  locality,  and  its  sudden 
increase  was  most  likely  due  to  an  earthquake. 

There  are  no  poisonous  gases  emitted  from  the  volcanic 
rocks  in  either  locality ;  on  the  contrary,  the  atmosphere, 
because  of  its  relative  dryness,  is  remarkably  pure.  More- 
over, in  this  respect  neither  valley  differs  from  any  other  part 
of  the  Great  Basin,  or  in  fact  from  any  part  of  the  plateau 
region.  Meat  exposed  to  the  air  will  jerk,  or  dry  up,  but 
it  will  not  putrefy.  This  fact  is  attributed  to  the  purity  of  the 
hot,  dry  air,  which  is  free  from  germs  and  organisms  that 
produce  putrefaction. 

The  most  interesting  features  about  Death  Valley  and  its 
twin,  Conchilla  Valley,  are  their  excessive  heat  and  dryness. 
During  midsummer  the  temperature  will  often  remain  between 
iio°  and  115°  for  weeks  at  a  time,  and  on  one  occasion  a 
temperature  of  130^  was  recorded  at  Indian  Wells.  In  spite 
of  its  intensity,  however,  this  degree  of  heat  is  not  intolerable, 
and  one  may  remain  out-of-doors  day  after  day  without  the 
slightest  danger  of  sunstroke.  Indeed,  in  this  region  a 
temperature  of  110°  is  by  no  means  so  disagreeable  as  one 
of  95°  along  the  seacoast  or  in  a  region  where  the  atmospheric 
moisture  is  great. 

In  these  valleys  and  throughout  the  desert  region  excessive 
dryness  is  a  peculiar  feature  of  the  atmosphere,  and  General 


DKATH  VAI,I,e;Y. 


23 


Sherman's  assertion  that  "  even  the  steel  rails  of  the  railway 
track  shrivelled  and  curled  up  "  is  a  pardonable  exaggeration. 
Water  upon  the  ground  disappears  almost  instantly,  and  the 
whole  volume  of  the  Rio  Colorado  would  not  fill  either  valley, 
so  rapid  is  surface  evaporation. 

Still  another  peculiarity  is  the  presence  of  an  unusual 
amount  of  electricity  in  the  air.  Rubbing  the  hand  through 
the  hair  will  cause  a  fierce  snapping,  and  in  the  dark  will 
produce  a  profusion  of  sparks.  Horses'  manes  stand  almost 
erect,  and  their  tails  are  almost  globular  in  shape,  because  of 
the  self-repellent  force  exerted  by  the  electrified  hairs.  In 
the  trading  post  at  Dos  Palmas  there  used  to  stand  a  wooden 
bench  on  which  several  hundred  cans  of  preserved  goods  were 
kept.  The  metal  of  the  can  acted  as  a  condenser  to  the  extent 
that  at  times  one  could  draw  sparks  an  inch  in  length  from 
the  surface. 

The  rainfall  in  this  region,  as  in  all  parts  of  the  Colorado 
and  Mojave  deserts,  is  less  than  two  inches  a  year  ;  if  evenly 
distributed  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  desert,  it  would 
probably  be  only  a  small  fraction  of  two  inches.  But  the 
rain-storms  are  local,  rarely  covering  more  than  a  few  hundred 
square  miles,  and  when  they  occur  they  are  apt  to  come  in  the 
form  of  cloudbursts.  There  is  a  sudden  darkening  of  the 
sky,  a  deluge  of  water,  and  then  the  sun  is  pouring  its  torrid 
ray  on  the  white,  glistening  sand  almost  before  one  realizes 
that  anything  has  happened.  Possibly  more  than  an  inch  of 
rain  may  fall  in  less  than  five  minutes,  and  another  cloud- 
burst may  not  occur  in  that  particular  locality  in  two  or  three 
years. 

By  far  more  trying,  however,  are  the  sand-storms.  These 
come  with  about  as  little  warning  as  the  cloudbursts,  and 
they  are  infinitely  more  disagreeable.  During  one  of  these 
storms  the  clouds  of  dust  are  so  dense  that  the  darkness 
is  almost  that  of  night.  The  finer  dust  is  piled  up  in  drifts 
fifteen  or  twenty  feet  high,  shifting  from  place  to  place  with 
each  storm ;  the  coarser  particles  are  hurled  with  a  force 


24 


sufficient  to  lacerate  and  bruise  the  skin.  The  fact  that 
telegraph-poles  eight  inches  in  diameter  have  been  cut  almost 
entirely  away  in  less  than  a  year  may  give  one  an  idea  of  the 
force  of  these  blasts. 

lyife,  either  animal  or  vegetable,  does  not  thrive  in  either 
valley.  There  are  a  few  species  of  cactus  and  one  or  two  of 
lizard.  The  cacti,  judging  from  the  number  of  dead  plants, 
seem  to  be  succumbing  to  the  intense  heat  and  drought.  One 
species  of  lizard  is  a  beautiful,  graceful  and  agile  little 
creature  that  emits  a  musical  chirp  ;  the  other  is  the  famous 
horned  toad.  Inasmuch  as  there  seems  to  be  neither  water 
nor  insects  for  them  to  subsist  upon,  just  how  they  live  is  a 
mystery.  Several  of  the  latter,  made  captives  by  the  writer, 
lived  for  nearly  five  months,  apparently  on  nothing.  No 
amount  of  coaxing  would  induce  them  to  eat  insects  or  bits 
of  shredded  muscle,  yet  they  seemed  lively  up  to  a  few  days 
before  dying. 

Jacques  W.  Rkdway. 


The  Queer  Surface  of  Nevada. 


The  State  of  Nevada  has  very  few  inhabitants,  and  is 
commonly  supposed  to  be  a  desert  that  ought  to  be  avoided 
by  men  who  wish  to  establish  homes.  Yet  its  vast  area  is 
rich  in  many  ways,  though  considerable  portions  of  it  are  given 
over  to  freaks  of  nature — deserts,  plains,  sinks  and  ugly 
eruptions.  But  the  State  can  well  afford  room  for  its  queer 
spots,  as  it  has,  exclusive  of  them,  enough  fertile  soil  to 
overlie  the  whole  of  New  England. 

The  traveller  who  crosses  the  ' '  Sage-Brush  State  ' '  in  the 
cars  sees  much  of  its  dreariness  and  little  of  its  pleasant 
places.  He  does  not  suspect  that  Nevada  has  great  stretches 
of  valley  wherein  are  ranches  and  cattle  ranges,  and  lazy 
rivers  winding  through  broad,  bright  ribbons  of  green. 

Indeed,  water  works  emerald  miracles  in  this  strange 
land,  and  there  the  farmers  reap  easy  and  sure  harvests. 
Their  fields  pay  abundantly  in  hay  and  grain  ;  their  herds 
furnish  ample  measure  of  milk,  butter,  cheese  and  beef ;  their 
flocks  produce  well  of  long,  wholesome  wool,  and  their 
orchards  bow  down  with  loads  of  fruit. 

The  surface  of  the  state  is  about  five  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea-level,  on  an  average,  the  range  being  from  three 
thousand  feet,  in  some  of  the  valleys,  to  ten  thousand  feet, 
where  snow-clad  peaks  lift  into  the  deep  blue  vault  above. 
The  aspect  of  the  whole  is  gray,  because  sage-brush  covers 
nearly  the  entire  extent,  and  the  surface  is  a  varying 
succession  of  mountains  and  valleys. 

At  various  places  occur  alkali  flats,  some  of  which  are 
readily  reclaimed,  while  some  are  veritable  deserts,  almost  as 
white  as  snow,  flat  as  a  table,  and  barren  as  the  bottom  of  a 
sad-iron. 

Some  of  these  flats  are  forty  miles  long  and  ten  to  fifteen 


26 


THE  QUEER  SURFACE  OF  NEVADA. 


miles  broad.  Over  them  the  winds  blow  blinding,  parching 
clouds  of  smarting  dust.  On  the  edges  of  such  "blisters" 
springs  frequently  gush  forth,  but  the  water  is  brackish  and 
often  poisonous. 

Beneath  these  chalk-like  floors  riches  sometimes  lie.  Men 


Queer  Surface. 


dig  trenches  near  the  edges  and  fill  them  with  water.  The 
sun  dries  them  out,  and  behold !  a  fine  crust  of  crystal 
salt,  pure  and  clear.  Or,  again,  there  maybe  borax  deposits, 
and  laborers  plow  or  dig  out  the  cotton  balls  of  borax,  grind 


THK  QUKKR  SURFACP:  OF  NEVADA. 


27 


them  up,  crystallize  them,  and  get  rich  from  the  sackfuls  and 
tons  of  it  carried  into  distant  cities. 

The  state  is  wonderfully  and  richly  endowed  with  springs. 
To  say  nothing  of  snow-chilled,  rock-filtered  founts  of .  pure 
water,  there  are  hundreds  of  freaky  spoutings,  both  cold  and 
hot,  some  of  which  have  attracted  the  attention  of  science 
from  afar.  I  doubt  if  any  like  area  contains  so  great  a  number 
of  hot  mineral  springs. 

Sulphur  taints  some  so  thickly  at  times  that  the  bottoms  of 
the  ponds  are  formed  of  the  grayish  stuff,  and  every  sub- 
merged twig  and  root  is  coated  heavily  with  it. 

The  hot  springs,  however,  which  are  found  in  almost 
every  valley,  are  the  most  attractive.  These  gush  up  in  many 
sorts,  but  nearly  all  are  said  to  possess  healing  qualities  and 
are  exceedingly  pleasant  to  bathe  in.  There  are  six  or  eight 
of  them  within  a  short  distance  of  the  capital  city,  Carson. 

One  of  these,  Steamboat  Springs,  is  famous  in  the  scientific 
world.  The  waters  spout,  small,  geyser-like,  from  deep  rifts 
and  chasms,  making  much  to  do  of  it  and  rumbling  mightily. 
Where  the  heated  and  agitated  fluid  issues  forth  it  drops  a 
burden  fetched  from  afar  down  and  leaves  it,  red  and  heavy, 
at  the  outside  door.  This  deposit  is  cinnabar,  or  quicksilver 
ore,  and  is  regarded  with  great  interest  by  geologists. 

Another  strange  feature  of  Nevada  are  the  sinks  in  which  its 
rivers  disappear  completely.  The  Carson  River,  the  Hum- 
boldt River  and  the  Truckee  River,  not  to  mention  small 
streams,  flow  their  life-imparting  way  to  apparent  lakes,  which 
are  really  huge  sinks.  Carson  Sink,  Humboldt  Sink  and 
Pyramid  Lake,  respectively,  swallow  down  the  whole  output 
of  the  mountain  springs. 

Fish  live  in  these  uncanny  lakes,  and  ducks  and  geese 
gather  in  thousands  on  them,  but  the  water  is  a  little  off 
taste.  Some  much-learned  heads  shake  wisely,  and  assert 
that  subterranean  passages  conduct  the  streams  away. 

In  this  wonderland  are  caverns  that  rival  the  great  Mam- 
moth Cave  of  Kentucky  ;  beds  of  salt  where  slabs  may  be 


28 


THE  QUEER  SUREACE  OE  NEVADA. 


quarried  out  like  stone  ;  depo.sits  of  sulphur  as  pure  as  can 
be  made  in  the  underground  laboratories  ;  ledges  of  mineral 
soap  that  may  be  cut  out  with  a  knife,  and  countless  combi- 
nations, chemical  and  curious. 

There  are  vast  treasures  of  metal,  gold,  silver,  copper,  lead, 
iron,  and  those  the  names  of  which  are  much  less  commonly 
known. 

There  are  beds  of  coal,  forests  of  trees  and  acres  of  sand 
intermingled  with  gold  in  flakes.  These  sands  are  the 
placers,  and  it  is  not  easy  always  to  separate  the  precious 
bits  of  shining  metal  from  the  dross. 

There  are  mountains  of  granite,  sandstone  and  marble,  not 
to  mention  the  volcanic  and  igneous  formations.  Quarries  of 
all  of  these  rocks  are  worked  a  little,  but  so  extensive  is  the 
supply  that  the  present  working  might  be  compared  to  the 
scratching  of  one  hen  on  a  large  farm  with  design  to  cultivate 
the  acres.  The  granite  is  close-grained,  of  all  tints,  and  of 
much  beauty  ;  the  marble  is  of  infinite  variety,  and  fit  for  the 
finest  of  the  arts. 

Some  wonder-inspiring  "  footprints  on  the  sands  of  time  " 
are  found  in  the  stone  quarries  at  the  state  prison,  near  Carson. 
There  they  were  left  ages  ago  by  birds  and  animals  long 
since  extinct.  Grave  professors  have  hovered  lovingly  over 
these  mud  impressions,  and  they  pronounce  them  wonderful. 

Weird  animals  and  birds  wandered  along  that  place,  then 
a  lake  shore,  while  yet  the  mud  was  soft  as  ooze,  and  there 
left  their  autographs  ;  and  Nature  came  to  save  the  page,  and 
she  shut  on  it  her  cover  of  rock,  hard-wove  and  thick  and 
lasting  as  the  hills. 

Philip  VerriIvIv  Mighels. 


Pyramid  Lake 


The  volcanoes  of  the  Pacific  coast,  in  their  extinction,  have 
left  us  no  more  wonderful  phenomena  than  the  deposits  now 
seen  in  a  wonderful  sheet  of  water  known  as  the  Pyramid 
Lake,  in  Nevada,  over  three  thousand  feet  above  the  sea- 
level. 

This  lake  lies  near  the  eastern  base  of  the  Sierra  Nevada 
Mountains,  about  one  hundred  miles  south  of  the  Oregon  line. 
It  is  nearly  forty  miles  long,  by  five  to  twelve  miles  wide. 
Jutting  out  of  its  waters  and  rising  abruptly  up  from  their 
very  depths  are  hundreds  of  pyramids,  or  conic  formations, 
of  a  basaltic  mineral ;  they  are  not  of  stone  proper,  but  the 
evidence  shows  that  they  were  once  molten  matter  thrown  out 
in  the  upheaval  of  a  prehistoric  volcano.  Whether  or  no  the 
area  of  the  present  lake  was  once  the  crater  of  a  volcano,  or 
whether  the  crater  was  near  by,  throwing  its  jets  of  lava 
into  the  cooling  waters,  are  problems  that  are  well-nigh 
indeterminate.  Doubtless  strong  testimonies  could  be  pro- 
duced in  favor  of  either  hypothesis. 

The  tallest  of  the  pyramids  in  the  lake  are  said  to  be  some 
five  hundred  feet  high  —  about  as  large  and  as  high  as  the 
great  Egyptian  Cheops.  The  smallest  appear  to  be  from  ten 
to  fifteen  feet  in  height.  They  are  seen  singly,  and  in  groups 
or  clusters,  irregular  in  height  and  irregular  in  diameter,  but 
all  of  singular  uniformity  in  shape  —  like  an  ordinary  V 
inverted,  the  angle  acute  at  top,  the  apex  pointed,  and 
usually  very  sharp  at  that. 

Some  of  the  .pyramids  are  hollow,  having  apertures 
in  the  sides  through  which  otter  and  other  fish-eating 
quadrupeds  go  in  and  out.  There  are  thousands  of  these 
fur-bearing  animals  seen  sporting  about  the  pyramids.  They 
are  careful,  however,  to  make  their  homes  out  of  reach  of 
gunshot  from  the  shore. 


PYRAMID  IvAKE. 


31 


The  lake  abounds  in  the  finest  of  fish,  chiefly  of  the  trout 
and  salmon  family.  The  waters  of  this  and  its  twin  brother, 
Winnemucca  Lake,  lie  within  the  bounds  of  an  Indian 
reservation  in  Nevada,  and  the  fish  are  the  exclusive  property 
of  the  tribe  of  peaceable  savages  living  on  the  shores.  White 
men  are  not  allowed  the  privilege  of  fishing  in  the  lakes, 
except  by  the  grace  of  the  Indian,  and  that  means  both  little 
and  much  —  little  of  the  grace,  and  much  of  the  consequence 
if  you  happen  to  be  caught !  You  may  catch  a  few  of  the  fish 
for  your  own  personal  use,  but  if  you  are  found  making 
merchandise  of  them,  woe  to  the  fisherman  ! 

The  provident  Indian  —  for  there  are  a  few  of  them  there 
—  spends  some  of  his  time  during  the  summer  days  in  taking 
the  fish  and  drying  them  for  winter  use.  The  fish  are  cut 
open  and  hung,  or  laid,  on  scaffolds  erected  on  the  shore. 
The  hot  sunshine  over  the  white  sands  of  the  beach  soon  dries 
the  fish  ready  for  packing  away,  the  reflection  of  the  heat  from 
below  being  almost  as  great  as  the  direct  rays  from  above. 

The  waters  of  this  lake,  like  those  of  Great  Salt  Lake  in 
Utah,  are  never  at  rest.  They  are  always,  as  I  was  told, 
while  there,  in  a  state  of  agitation  and  unrest.  It  is  indeed  a 
troubled  sea,  though  its  waters  are  fresh.  Navigation  over 
its  surface  is  ever  attended  with  supreme  danger,  and  even 
the  Indians  rarely  venture  far  from  the  broad,  white  beach. 
Few  white  men  have  ever  succeeded  in  crossing  in  boats  or 
canoes  ;  many  have  been  lost  in  attempting  the  feat.  The 
winds  sweep  the  lake  with  sudden  and  frequent  squalls. 

The  Indian  name  of  Pyramid  Lake  is  written  Cuh-o-wah^ 
or  Coo-ho-wah,  a  word  that  in  the  native  tongue  means  simply 
waters,  or  the  big  or  much  water.  Lying  by  its  side  is  the 
Winnemucca,  the  great  purple  water.  These  lakes  are  the 
reservoir  holding  the  waters  of  the  Truckee  River,  a  raging, 
roaring  stream  that  leaps  in  considerable  volume  from  the 
canons  of  the  eastern  face  of  the  Sierras,  fed  by  the  eternal 
snows  of  the  dizzy  summits  that  rim  the  heavens  away  to  the 
westward. 


32 


PYRAMID  IvAKIt. 


Up  the  northern  bank  of  this  river  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railway  winds  its  course,  past  the  sombre  shades  about  Lake 
Donner,  up  to  the  crest  of  the  mountain  at  Summit  Station. 
The  mountains  about  the  Pyramid  Lake  are  low,  sandy  and 
quite  barren.  To  the  northward  is  an  ugly  stretch  of  desert, 
and  one  of  the  roughest  highways  over  which  human  traveller 
is  ever  hurried  by  pitiless  stagemen. 

There  are  no  waters  of  Nevada  that  have  an  outlet  in  the 
ocean  excepting  some  small  tributaries  of  the  Snake  on  the 
north,  and  one  of  the  Colorado  on  the  south. 

The  principal  river  is  the  Humboldt,  a  current  that  winds 
through  a  desert,  without  a  sprig  of  verdure  to  mark  its 
shores.  For  a  hundred  miles  one  may  travel  not  more  than 
half  a  mile  from  its  course  and  never  know  that  there  is  a 
stream  of  water  near.  The  banks  are  low,  and  in  places  the 
desert  plain  stretches  away  in  unbroken  level  for  more  than  a 
hundred  miles.  With  the  occasional  exception  of  sage-brush 
and  bunch-grass,  nothing  grows  on  this  desert  plain  except  in 
irrigation. 

Humboldt  River  has  no  lake  or  sea  outlet  ;  the  waters, 
after  running  nearly  a  thousand  miles,  simply  disappear 
and  lose  themselves  in  a  vast  sand  and  alkali  basin  known  as 
the  Sink  of  the  Humboldt,  in  one  of  the  dreariCvSt  and  most 
forlorn  stretches  of  waste  land  human  eye  ever  beheld,  in  the 
heart  of  a  great  broad  plain  shimmering  with  sickening, 
whitish  alkali,  while  the  far-off  mountains  to  the  southward 
appear  like  a  vein  of  silver,  with  their  snow-capped  faces 
looking  down  on  the  desolation  below. 

M.  V.  Moore. 


The  Grand  Canon 


Having  read  several  interesting  accounts  of  visits  to  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado  River  in  Arizona,  but  none 
describing  the  experience  of  a  descent  into  the  chasm,  I  was 
filled  with  a  desire  to  have  this  experience. 

I  was  told  that  to  make  possible  a  descent  to  the  river,  the 
services  of  a  guide  would  be  necessary ;  but  deeming  the 
price  which  the  local  guides  asked  beyond  my  means,  I 
resolved  to  go  alone. 

As  I  stood  on  the  rim  of  the  canon,  ready  to  begin  the 
descent,  I  must  confess  that  I  felt  a  little  uncertain  of  the 
wisdom  of  my  course,  but  I  had  no  notion  of  turning  back. 

Mr.  John  Hance,  who  lives  in  a  cabin  near  the  rim  of  the 
canon,  told  me  that  the  distance  from  the  rim  to  the  river  was 
seven  miles  ;  the  vertical  depth  more  than  six  thousand  six 
hundred  feet ;  the  distance  from  the  rim  to  a  cabin  on  the 
trail,  three  miles  ;  vertical  depth  to  the  cabin,  four  thousand 
feet ;  length  of  longest  rope,  fifty  feet. 

With  neither  coat  nor  waistcoat,  carrying  only  my  journal 
and  my  lunch,  I  was  ready  for  the  descent.  I  noted  the  time, 
which,  was  just  seven  o'clock  and  forty  minutes,  and  bade 
good-by  to  my  driver,  requesting  that  if  I  should  not  return  by 
the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  he  should  come  down  to  seek  me. 

The  trail  is  so  steep  that  one  can  scarcely  keep  on  his  feet. 
I  walked,  ran,  slid  and  rolled  down  the  three  miles  to  the 
cabin  in  just  an  hour  and  two  minutes. 

The  scenery  all  the  way  was  exceedingly  interesting, 
lyooking  down,  one  would  see  a  prominent  ledge,  or  bench  of 
rock,  perhaps  a  thousand  feet  below,  from  which  would  rise  a 
magnificent  butte.  A  quarter  of  an  hour's  travel  would  bring 
him  to  a  level  with  this  base  ;  and  in  the  next  quarter  of  an 
hour  he  would  see  it  rise  a  thousand  feet  above  his  head. 


34 


THE  GRAND  CANON. 


I  found  it  exceedingly  interesting  to  pick  out  prominent 
points,  both  at  a  level  with  me  and  far  below,  and  then  stop 
occasionally  and  see  how  we  had  changed  position.  In  fact, 
I  think  that  is  about  the  only  way  one  can  gain  an  idea, 
inadequate  though  it  be,  of  the  great  descent  he  is  making. 


The  Grand  Canon. 

At  the  cabin  I  found  a  beautiful  stream  of  clear,  cool 
water,  which  was  very  refreshing.    Here  I  divided  my  lunch, 
leaving  some  for  my  return.    After  half  an  hour's  rest  I 
.    pushed  on. 


THK  GRAND  CANON. 


35 


The  canon  here,  which  is  merely  a  side  canon  leading  down 
to  the  river,  was  perhaps  five  hundred  feet  wide,  with  walls 
nearly  vertical,  a  thousand  feet  high.  On  every  hand  the 
scenery  was  indescribably  grand.  The  canon  was  narrowing, 
the  walls  were  getting  higher  ;  the  whole  scene  was  becoming 
more  impressive  and  majestic. 

The  indications  of  the  trail  were  growing  exceedingly 
faint.  I  had  gone  perhaps  three  miles  from  the  cabin.  The 
canon  had  narrowed  to  about  twenty-five  feet,  with  its  walls 
sloping  at  an  angle  of  over  eighty  degrees. 

I  had  descended  through  the  sandstone  and  vshale,  and  was 
already  several  hundred  feet  into  the  granite,  when  I  came  to 
the  first  rope  ladder.  I  was  glad  to  see  it,  for  it  assured  me 
that  I  was  on  the  right  trail,  although  it  brought  visibly  before 
my  mind  the  fact  that  the  dangerous  part  of  my  journey  had 
yet  to  be  accomplished.  The  ladder  was  about  ten  feet  long. 
I  tested  its  fastenings  and  easily  descended. 

A  few  steps  beyond,  I  had  to  climb  by  a  single  rope  over  a 
ledge  of  vertical  rock  fifteen  feet  high.  As  I  had  no  means  of 
examining  the  fastening,  I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  for  I  knew 
the  hardest  strain  would  come  upon  the  rope  just  as  I  should 
round  the  top  of  the  ledge  and  be  farthest  from  the  rock 
below.  I  ascended  safely,  and  then  soon  had  to  descend  a 
gentle  slope,  clinging  to  a  rope  about  forty  feet  long. 

When  I  had  gone  about  one  hundred  feet,  the  canon  had 
narrowed  in  one  place  to  a  width  of  about  five  feet,  and  at  the 
bottom  was  a  pool  of  water  about  eighteen  inches  deep.  The 
walls  were  so  smooth  and  round  that  it  was  impossible  to  pass 
the  pool  without  getting  wet.  Removing  shoes  and  stockings, 
I  got  over  nicely,  and  as  I  expected  to  meet  even  a  worse  case 
in  a  moment  or  two,  I  proceeded  with  bare  feet  on  the  smooth 
granite. 

Turning  a  sharp  angle  in  the  canon,  I  had  scarcely  gone 
forty  feet  when  I  heard  the  roar  of  a  heavy  fall  of  water,  and 
found  myself  hemmed  in  on  both  sides  by  steep  walls,  with  a 
waterfall  about  fifteen  feet  high  in  front  of  me.    On  the  level 


36  THK  GRAND  CANON. 

of  the  rock  below  the  falls  I  saw  a  bunch  of  rope  lying  against 
the  wall  of  the  canon,  as  if  it  had  been  washed  there. 

I  at  once  supposed  that  I  had  reached  the  end  of  my 
journey,  and  that  the  rope  which  I  saw  had  at  one  time  been 
used  to  get  over  the  falls,  but  was  now  out  of  reach.  Never- 
theless, I  decided  to  see  what  I  could  do  toward  climbing 
around  the  place. 

The  granite  was  very  smooth,  but,  being  barefoot,  I  found 
climbing  rather  a  simple  matter.  I  was  getting  along  nicely 
and  congratulating  myself  that  I  had  got  safely  around  the 
falls,  when,  to  my  horror,  upon  turning  to  the  left,  I  saw 
below  what  at  first  appeared  to  be  a  descent  without  bottom. 

Climbing  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice  and  looking  down,  I 
concluded  that  this  must  be  the  great  waterfall  of  which  I  had 
heard  Mr.  Hance  speak,  and  that  the  rope  I  had  noticed 
from  the  precipice,  now  behind  me,  had  not  fallen  down  from 
that,  but  was  intended  for  this  next  descent. 

Making  sure  that  the  end  of  the  rope  was  well  fastened, 
I  cast  it  over  the  falls.  It  hung  straight  in  the  midst  of  a 
cascade  of  water  four  feet  wide  and  six  inches  deep.  The 
rope  appeared  to  be  strong,  and  I  determined  to  try  it. 

The  height  was  said  to  be  fifty  feet,  but  I  think  it  was  not 
so  much.  As  I  did  not  wish  to  have  my  watch  and  my  jour- 
nal ruined,  I  hid  those  articles  witli  my  trousers.  As  I  was 
concealing  them  it  occurred  to  me  that  no  one  was  within  at 
least  six  miles. 

Below  the  falls  there  was  a  spot  about  ten  feet  square, 
perfectly  dry.  Down  upon  this  I  tossed  shoes,  stockings, 
shirt  and  lunch.  My  underwear  I  retained,  to  protect  myself 
in  some  measure  against  the  rocky  wall.  The  descent  through 
the  falls  was  pleasant  enough,  the  water  having  about  the 
right  temperature  to  produce  an  exhilarating  reaction  without 
chilling  ;  and  as  I  passed  down  the  rope  I  was  delighted,  as 
well  as  surprised,  to  find  the  wall  covered  near  its  base  with 
beautiful  moss  and  maiden-hair  ferns. 

Removing  my  wet  apparel,  I  put  on  what  dry  clothing  I 


THK  GRAND  CANON. 


37 


had,  and  went  on.  I  had  gone  about  two  hundred  feet  when  I 
came  to  a  place  that  troubled  me.  It  was  a  slope,  somewhat 
steep,  but  quite  smooth,  and  no  rope  was  in  sight. 

Examining  the  place  carefully,  I  decided  that  the  best 
method  of  descent  was  the  one  I  had  used  years  ago  on  my 
grandfather's  farm  in  descending  straw-stacks.  Only  one 
objection  presented  itself  —  the  part  of  my  costume  that  was 
missing  is  the  one  usually  most  relied  upon  on  such  occasions. 
Nevertheless,  I  conformed  to  the  inevitable,  and  slid  down 
without  serious  injury. 

Only  one  short  rope  remained  for  me,  and,  almost  leaping 
with  joy,  I  found  myself  on  the  bank  of  the  Colorado.  The 
river  was  an  angry,  muddy  torrent,  with  rapids  at  short 
intervals,  flowing  between  rugged  granite  walls  that  rose 
almost  perpendicularly  from  the  water's  edge. 

It  seemed  impossible  to  pass  more  than  one  hundred  feet 
up  or  down  the  stream  ;  and  as  I  sat  in  the  shadow  of  a  mighty 
boulder  and  enjoyed  my  battered  lunch,  I  thought  of  Major 
Powell  and  his  party,  who  passed  through  here  in  1869.  My 
wonder  was,  not  that  two  members  of  the  expedition  had  been 
lost,  but  that  any  should  have  escaped. 

Having  looked  upon  the  scene  until  it  became  deeply 
impressed  upon  my  memory,  I  gathered  a  few  pebbles  to  carry 
with  me  and  started  on  my  return.  The  sliding-place  was 
soon  passed,  such  places  being,  on  the  whole,  more  easy  of 
ascent  than  of  descent. 

When  I  reached  the  base  of  the  high  falls,  I  removed  all 
my  clothing,  even  to  shoes  and  stockings,  and  thrust  every- 
thing except  my  belt  into  the  bag  in  which  I  had  carried  my 
lunch.  Fastening  the  belt  to  the  bag,  I  buckled  it  around 
my  neck.  Then  stepping  into  the  midst  of  the  falls,  with  my 
face  turned  upward,  so  that  my  nose  should  serve  as  a  water- 
shed, the  bag  hanging  under  my  head,  I  ascended  the  rope 
and  reached  the  top  with  my  clothing  only  slightly  wet. 

The  things  I  had  hidden  I  found  all  right,  and  as  I  stopped 
for  a  little  rest  I  wrote  up  my  journal. 


38 


THK  GRAND  CANON. 


I  reached  the  cabin  at  four  o'clock.  I  called  to  mind  that 
I  had  been  told  that  the  ascent  from  there  would  require  at 
least  three  hours.  At  that  time  of  the  year  it  is  dark  at 
half-past  seven  ;  so  I  concluded  that  if  I  started  I  must  climb 
the  whole  distance  in  the  time  mentioned.  I  determined 
to  go  on,  and  not  to  look  at  my  watch  until  I  had  reached  the 
top. 

The  distance  is  three  miles  ;  the  elevation  is  said  to  be  four 
thousand  feet ;  and  it  was  just  half-past  four  when  I  started. 
In  the  first  mile  I  do  not  think  I  ascended  more  than  five 
hundred  feet.  That  was  covered  with  ease,  and  then  I  pressed 
on  to  the  steeper  part.  After  climbing  hard  for  a  while  I  sat 
down  to  rest. 

As  I  sat  there,  I  remember  looking  up  at  some  turret-like 
projections  of  rock  on  the  rim,  several  thousand  feet  above  me, 
and  saying  :  "  Well,  I  guess  about  four  such  pulls  as  this  will 
bring  me  out." 

I  struggled  on.  Each  interval  between  my  rests  was 
growing  shorter,  both  as  to  space  and  time.  The  number  of 
rests  was  nearer  forty-four  than  four,  and  by  the  time  I  had 
reached  the  top  I  was  so  completely  worn  out  that  a  pull  of  a 
few  yards  was  enough  to  bring  me  to  a  halt. 

A  dark  shower  which  was  raging  on  the  rim  had  deceived 
me  somewhat  as  to  the  hour ;  I  supposed  that  it  was  later 
than  it  really  was.  As  I  threw  myself  on  the  ground  under  a 
pifion-tree  on  the  rim,  my  heart  beating  at  the  highest  speed 
and  my  flesh  aglow,  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  just  twenty 
minutes  past  six.  I  had  come  from  the  cabin  to  the  rim  in 
just  one  hour  and  fifty  minutes. 

As  I  dragged  myself  to  the  door  of  Mr.  Hance's  cabin,  the 
old  man  met  me.  He  was  unwilling,  at  first,  to  believe  that 
I  had  reached  the  river.  I  told  him  of  my  experience  on  the 
ropes,  and  he  was  convinced.  It  is  unnecessary  to  mention 
that  I  slept  well  that  night. 

J.  G.  Owens. 


Cave-Dwellers  of  Arizona. 


Arizona  has  an  unwritten  history  which  may  be  roughly 
surmised  from  the  rude  characters  inscribed  on  rocks,  the 
deserted  dwellings  of  a  prehistoric  race,  and  the  ruins  of  once 
populous  towns.  All  these  things  give  evidence  that  a 
peaceful,  industrious  people,  cultivating  the  soil  and  practis- 
ing some  of  the  arts,  had  lived  and  died  within  the  territory 
centuries  before  the  European  saw  this  continent. 

This  aboriginal  people  passed  away,  leaving  the  wild 
Indian  and  the  buffalo  in  possession  of  their  domain  ;  but 
some  of  their  works  have  withstood  time,  and  remain  to  aid  us 
in  guessing  their  history.  Who  they  were,  whence  they 
came,  whither  they  went,  are  problems  not  yet  solved. 

Traces  of  these  people  have  been  discovered  in  New 
Mexico,  Utah  and  Colorado,  but  in  those  distrircts  the  ruins 
consist  mainly  of  crumbling  walls,  mounds  of  dust  and  masses 
of  rubbish,  the  remains  of  old  buildings.  The  most  authentic 
history  comes  from  the  Great  Tonto  Basin  in  Arizona,  com- 
prising upward  of  ten  thousand  square  miles.  Here  nearly 
every  eminence  bears  ruins  that  prove  the  ancient  existence  of 
a  vanished  race. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  flows  a  small 
yellow  stream  called  Beaver  Creek,  a  tributary  of  the  Rio 
Verde,  which  runs  into  the  Gila  River.  On  the  creek's  high 
banks  are  located  upward  of  sixty  walled  caves  of  various 
sizes,  once  the  homes  of  that  prehistoric  race  of  whom  the 
American  Indian  has  no  traditions. 

The  caves  vary  from  five  to  twenty-five  feet  in  depth. 
Their  entrances  are  walled  by  heavy  masonry  of  stone  and 
cement,  still  in  good  preservation. 

The  largest  of  the  caves  are  divided  into  many  small 
apartments  by  partitions,  or  walls,  of  stone  and  cedar  wood. 


An  Arizona  Cave-Dwelling. 


CAVK-DWKIvIvKRS  OF  ARIZONA. 


41 


It  is  asserted  by  many  students  of  the  race  that  the  inhabitants 
lived  in  the  smaller  apartments,  securely  fortified  from  enemies 
who  frequently  besieged  their  cave-towns. 

The  dwellings  consisted  of  an  upper  and  lower  cave.  To 
reach  the  upper  cave  it  was  necessary  to  ascend  by  outside 
ladders,  at  peril  of  falling  to  the  ground,  sixty  to  one  hundred 
feet  below.  The  lower  cave  was  reached  by  climbing  over  the 
rugged  edges  of  projecting  rocks. 

To  the  walls  of  the  rooms  still  hang  small  fragments  of 
mortar,  proof  that  the  interior  of  their  cave-dwelling  was 
plastered.  From  discernible  imprints  of  hands  and  fingers,  it 
is  surmised  that  the  mortar  must  have  been  spread  upon  the 
walls  with  bare  hands.  In  many  places  can  be  seen  the 
impressions  of  the  small,  chubby  hands  of  little  children,  who 
were,  no  doubt,  delighted  to  make  their  marks  in  the  wet 
plaster. 

Many  of  the  caves  are  equal  in  size  to  some  of  our  public 
buildings,  and  in  one  of  the  largest  ruins  five  hundred  rooms 
were  found.  Four  stories  still  stand,  but  the  roof  and  upper 
walls  have  long  ago  crumbled  and  fallen  to  the  ground.  The 
rooms  are  still  well  preserved.  They  have  no  other  entrances 
than  small  windows,  for  the  buildings  were  entered  by  ladders 
which  rested  in  niches  in  the  walls,  and  which  were  drawn  in 
after  the  occupant. 

Floors  were  formed  of  cedar  logs  laid  close  to  each  other 
with  spaces  between  them  filled  in  with  twigs  and  cedar  bark. 
The  ragged  ends  of  the  logs  give  evidence  that  they  were 
hewn  by  dull  instruments,  perhaps  by  the  stone  hatchets  and 
saws  which  we  saw  lying  about. 

Many  cave-dwellings  erected  in  proximity  to  each  other 
formed  what  was  known  as  a  cave-town.  A  plaza  was  set  off 
in  the  centre,  and  the  rooms  were  arranged  around  it.  The 
architecture  of  each  seemed  to  have  corresponded  in  the 
minutest  detail  to  that  of  every  other,  so  that  all  the  dwellings 
of  the  town  were  alike. 

The  walls  of  the  cave  were  from  three  to  four  feet  in 


42 


cavk-dwe:i.i.ers  of  Arizona. 


thickness,  and  the  roof  covered  with  timbers  of  cedar  and  dirt 
over  a  foot  thick.  Often  these  cedars  are  found  well- 
preserved,  and  this  has  often  caused  doubt  of  the  great 
antiquity  of  these  ruins.  No  such  doubt  is  felt  by  those  who 
know  that  the  cedars  of  Colorado  and  the  Southwest  never  rot, 
but  die  standing  without  support  until  borne  away  on  the 
winds  in  atoms  of  fine  dust. 

Cave-towns  were  often  built  in  the  form  of  a  square  and 
parallelogram,  as  well  as  in  a  circular  form,  and  their 
measurements  were  exact  in  every  detail.  Their  masonry 
reveals  a  higher  state  of  civilization  than  that  enjoyed  by  the 
Mexican  or  Pueblo  Indians. 

The  circular  towns  consisted  of  three  tiers  of  cave- 
dwellings,  one  directly  above  the  other.  The  second  tier 
receded  some  distance  from  the  ground  tier,  and  the  third 
receded  from  the  second.  So  the  whole  resembled  a  huge 
stairway  of  masonry  and  adobe.  These  tiers  ran  all  round 
the  enclosure,  and  thus  formed  a  stronghold  for  defence  during 
troublesome  periods. 

Among  the  great  structures  now  crumbling  to  dust  must  be 
mentioned  the  Casa  Grande,  situated  in  the  valley  of  the  Gila. 
Its  history  antedates  the  time  when  the  Spaniards  conquered 
and  occupied  the  country. 

This  wonderful  building  stands  a  short  distance  back  from 
the  Gila's  banks.  Its  origin  has  been  traced  back  on  good 
evidence  through  five  centuries.  When  first  seen  by  the  white 
man,  three  hundred  years  ago,  the  largest  building  was  four 
stories  high,  and  had  walls  six  feet  thick.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  present  century  one  house  alone  remained,  which  was 
four  hundred  and  twenty  by  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet. 

The  walls  are  of  concrete,  consisting  of  mud,  gravel  and 
hard  cement,  while  the  interior  is  coated  with  cement,  and  is 
hard  and  smooth  at  the  present  time.  The  ruin  has  diminished 
in  size  until  it  is  now  fifty  by  thirty  feet,  and  is  rapidly  sinking 
to  a  mere  hillock  of  dust. 

The  inside  is  divided  into  five  rooms,  the  central  one  being 


CAVK-DWKIyl^KRS  OF  ARIZONA. 


43 


eighteen  feet  long  and  fourteen  feet  wide,  while  the  others  are 
twenty-five  feet  long  and  ten  wide. 

The  beams  of  cedar  still  inserted  in  its  walls  give  proof  that 
the  building  originally  had  four  stories,  with  a  fifth  located 
above  the  central  part.  No  stairways  nor  traces  of  any  can  be 
seen,  so  that,  as  in  all  of  the  cave-dwellings,  the  upper  rooms 
must  have  been  entered  by  ladders. 

In  all  the  ruins  are  circular  apartments,  surrounded  by 
walls  of  masonry  sunk  deep  in  the  ground.  These  circular 
chambers  have  an  average  diameter  of  twenty  feet.  They 
were  used  for  worship.  The  cave-dwellers  were  probably 
sun- worshippers,  and  within  this  peculiar  apartment  were 
performed  the  rites  of  their  religion. 

In  connection  with  the  cave-dwellings  have  been  found 
numerous  hieroglyphics  engraved  on  rocks  centuries  prior  to 
the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth.  That  they  are  of 
great  antiquity,  and  were  engraved  by  men  of  no  little 
intelligence  and  ambition,  can  hardly  be  doubted. 

Without  exception  the  sites  chosen  for  the  erection  of 
cave-dwellings  were  in  the  vicinity  of  agricultural  lands,  and 
the  existence  of  artificial  canals  gives  evidence  that  irrigation 
was  practised  by  their  owners. 

One  canal,  ten  miles  long,  twenty-five  feet  wide  and  ten 
feet  deep,  still  exists,  and  was  no  doubt  designed  to  receive 
the  waters  of  the  Gila  for  distribution  to  the  cultivated  fields, 
in  which  they  raised  Indian  corn,  pumpkins,  melons  and 
certain  fruits.  Another  irrigating  canal  has  been  followed 
to  the  Gila,  a  distance  of  forty  miles. 

There  have  been  found  in  the  cave-houses  more  than  two 
thousand  pieces  of  pottery,  from  large,  coarse  jars  to  cups  and 
jugs  which  might  well  be  coveted  by  bric-a-brac  collectors  ; 
hundreds  of  stone  hatchets,  knives,  arrow-heads,  hammers  and 
mortars ;  bows,  paddles,  hoes,  lances  and  plows  of  wood,  and 
mantles  woven  from  yucca  fibre,  wild  cotton  and  the  inmeshed 
feathers  of  turkeys — for  there  is  abundant  evidence  that  the 
cave-dwellers  had  domesticated  the  turkey. 


44 


CAVK-DWKlvI.KRS  OF  ARIZONA. 


The  high,  dry  recesses  of  the  closed  houses  have  preserved 
not  only  the  bones,  but  the  burial-clothes  in  which  the  people 
were  wrapped  and  laid  to  rest  in  carefully  walled-up  niches  of 
the  crags. 

The  skulls  give  evidence  that  the  cave-dwellers  possessed 
average  brain  capacity.  The  skeletons  show  that  the  men 
were  sometimes  six  feet  in  height,  and  the  women  five  feet 
seven  inches.  The  soft,  reddish  brown  hair  of  the  women  is 
neither  wiry  like  that  of  the  Indian,  nor  kinky  and  black  like 
that  of  the  negro,  but  fine  and  straight. 

The  remains,  indeed,  indicate  that  these  denizens  of 
pre-Columbian  America  may  have  been  comely  women  and 
strong,  intelligent  men. 

Surely,  from  their  homogeneous  character,  beauty,  and 
precision  in  detail  of  construction,  we  must  believe  that  the 
cave-dwellings  and  the  domestic  articles  found  in  them  are  the 
work  of  a  great  people,  whose  civilization  was  of  a  higher 
order  than  that  of  the  tribes  which  have  succeeded  them. 

Preston  H.  Uberroth,  U.  S.  R.  M. 


A  Builded  Lake 


A  reservoir  of  water  for  mining  purposes  or  the  irrigation 
of  land  usually  costs  vastly  more  in  money  and  in  time  than 
any  one  would  think  of  devoting  to  such  an  undertaking,  if 
nature  could  be  trusted  to  send  rain  enough  for  the  work 
intended.  But  in  a  large  portion  of  the  far  West  of  the  United 
States  rain  comes  seldom,  and  when  it  does  fall  the  time  is 
winter  or  early  spring,  though  the  water  is  especially  needed 
in  summer.  It  comes  in  torrents,  rushes  down  the  mountain- 
sides, roars  into  rocky  canons,  and  vanishes,  leaving  its  traces 
only  in  washed-out  mountain  trails,  countless  gullies  and 
undermined  railroad  tracks. 

The  plan  of  water-storage  is  to  catch  the  water  as  it  falls 
in  the  winter-time,  store  it  up  in  a  huge  reservoir,  and  use  it 
for  irrigation  in  the  summer  season. 

The  site  of  the  lake-basin  should  be  shut  in  by  hills,  with 
an  outlet  through  some  narrow  cut  in  the  rocks,  as  at  the 
mouth  of  a  canon,  which  can  be  easily  closed  by  a  dam.  The 
area  drained  by  the  lake  should  be  as  large  as  possible,  so 
that  the  water-supply  may  fill  the  reservoir  every  year.  Then, 
too,  if  the  water  is  to  be  used  for  irrigation  or  mining,  the 
dam  must  be  built  somewhere  near  the  ground  to  be  worked. 

The  simplest  way  of  locating  a  storage-lake  would  be 
to  discover  some  ancient  lake-basin  and  close  its  outlet, 
precisely  as  was  done  in  building  the  reservoir  at  Walnut 
Grove,  Arizona. 

The  dam  at  this  place  stands  one  hundred  and  ten  feet 
high  above  bed-rock,  and  is  four  hundred  and  ten  feet  long 
across  the  top.  It  is  a  huge  wedge  of  stone,  built  up  of 
four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  cubic  yards  of  rock,  and 
sealed  by  an  apron  of  three-inch  planks,  calked  and  painted 
with  asphalt,  as  stanch  as  the  sides  of  a  ship. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  work  Walnut  Grove  was  in  the 


46 


A  BUILDED  I^AKK. 


wilderness,  fifty  miles  from  any  place,  but  a  town  sprang  up 
quickly  about  the  site.  Hundreds  of  men  were  constantly 
engaged  on  the  job,  all  the  day  and  all  the  electric-lighted 
night,  for  nearly  a  year,  during  which  time  no  rain  fell.  This 
unusually  long  absence  of  rain  was  a  great  source  of  good 
fortune  to  the  builders ;  but  when  all  was  completed  we 
anxiously  desired  a  flood,  that  the  great  structure  might  be 
tested. 

We  grew  impatient  and  began  to  doubt  whether  such  a 


The  Valley. 


brazen  sky  could  rain,  and  whether,  if  it  did,  all  the  water  in 
the  territory  could  fill  that  immense  lake-basin,  which  lay 
parched  and  lifeless  beneath  the  blistering  Arizona  sun. 
Indeed,  the  outlook  seemed  dubious  enough.  There  lay  the 
outstretched  water-basin,  a  very  desert  in  barrenness,  its  red 
volcanic  soil  aggravating  the  sense  of  aridity  derived  from 


A  BUILDED  LAKE. 


47 


seeing  the  lurid  heat.  In  the  basin  were  brown  grass,  brown 
rocks,  stunted  oak-brush,  withering  cactus,  cattle  dying  on  the 
road  to  water,  the  only  water  in  sight  a  sluggish  creek  winding 
through  the  valley  and  sinking,  at  intervals,  out  of  sight 
beneath  the  sand. 

The  flood-gates  had  been  closed  three  months  in  expecta- 
tion of  the  rains,  but  winter  had  come  and  gone  without  even 
a  sprinkle.  Heavy  snow  had  lain  on  the  mountain  since 
February,  but  no  rain  had  fallen  to  bring  the  snow  down  in  a 


freshet.  At  last,  in  April,  came  a  driving  wind  and  rain, 
blown  in  from  the  Gulf  of  California. 

Rain-drops  as  big  as  marbles  bounded  from  boulder  to 
boulder  and  down  into  the  lake-basin.  Every  groove  in  the 
rocks  fed  a  hollow,  the  hollows  fed  the  streams  and  the 
streams  quickly  grew  into  torrents  that  tore  their  wa}^  through 


48 


A  BUII.DED  I^AKE. 


the  empty  creek-beds.  The  lake-level  rose  three  feet  in  an 
hour,  but  the  effects  of  the  warm  rain  on  the  mountains  had 
yet  to  be  seen. 

At  midnight  a  cowboy  rode  in  on  horseback,  breathless 
with  excitement,  to  tell  us,  There  's  a  wave  from  fifty  to  a 
hundred  feet  high  crashing  down  the  valley  !  ' ' 

We  seized  our  pouches  and  lanterns  and  started  for  the 
boom.  We  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  river,  ten  miles  away, 
but  it  was  an  hour  before  it  rushed  in  upon  us,  twenty  feet 
high  and  fifty  feet  across,  a  great  tidal  wave,  seething  with 
foam,  carrying  trees,  boulders,  everything  before  it.  Then 
followed  the  deafening  boom  of  the  other  creeks,  as  one  after 
another  they  came  down. 

We  hurried  back  to  camp,  to  find  our  approach  nearly  cut 
off  by  the  rising  water.  Everybody  was  awake  and  rustling. 
The  croakers,  who  had  built  on  the  flat  in  defiance  of  the 
dam-level,  were  scurrying  about  in  the  dark,  scooping  their 
belongings  into  gunny-sacks  and  rushing  up  the  hill  to 
establish  new  claims  above  the  one-hundred-and-ten-foot  line. 

By  morning  the  rain-gage  showed  a  rainfall  of  two 
inches,  but  this  gave  no  clue  to  the  rise  in  the  lake.  We 
looked  out  at  daybreak  to  find  the  face  of  the  country  entirely 
changed.  The  rocky  water-basin  of  yesterday  was  now  a 
lake,  three-quarters  of  a  mile  wide,  a  mile  and  a  half  long  and 
eighty  feet  deep  by  the  dam,  on  which  floated  logs,  tree- 
trunks,  fence-rails  and  islands  of  sawdust  that  had  drifted 
down  from  the  sawmill  above. 

Roads,  trails  and  cabins  had  disappeared.  We  found 
ourselves  entirely  at  sea,  and  had  to  look  off  repeatedly  to  the 
divStant  mountains  to  find  where  we  were.  Even  the  cattle 
looked  confused.  Being  used  to  a  .swallow  of  muddy  water 
from  the  creek,  they  stood  appalled  at  the  ocean  that  lay 
before  them,  and  refused  to  drink. 

The  change  in  the  landscape  was  too  sudden  to  realize  at 
once,  the  smooth  expanse  of  water  being  so  striking  a  contra.st 
to   the   rocky  water-basin  it  displayed.     We  had  known 


A  BUII.DKD  IvAKS. 


49 


beforehand  exactly  how  high  the  lake  would  rise  when  the 
dam  was  full,  but  imagination  had  not  pictured  to  us  the 
beauty  and  variety  of  the  constantly  changing  outlook. 

As  the  lake-bottom  sloped  very  gradually  upward,  a  slight 
increase  in  depth  added  greatly  to  the  size  of  the  lake. 
Hillsides  disappeared  under  water  to  become  shelving  beaches 
and  fine  swimming-grounds,  rocky  cliffs  became  islands  or 
steep  promontories,  curves  in  the  creek-beds  made  peninsulas, 
valleys  between  the  hills  became  bays,  all  changed  as  by 
magic  when  the  water  rose. 

It  continued  to  rise  for  three  weeks  longer,  until  the  lake 
stood  one  hundred  and  five  feet  deep,  covering  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  acres.  The  debris  on  the  surface  gradually  sank, 
leaving  the  lake  surprisingly  clear  and  blue,  like  a  translucent 
amethyst  in  its  setting  of  terra-cotta  hills. 


Helkn  Francks  Bate;s. 


The  Oldest  American  Houses. 

Santa  Fe  is  said  to  be  the  oldest  city  in  America.  That 
the  statement  is  not  true  would  be  hard  to  prove,  because  the 
question  of  its  origin  and  age  is  wrapped  in  mystery. 

When  Coronado  explored  Mexico  in  1540,  he  found  many 
Indian  pueblos  on  the  Rio  Grande  River,  and  speaks  of 
several  which  must  have  been  near  the  present  location  of 
Santa  Fe.  The  one  which  it  is  generally  supposed  was  on  its 
precise  site  at  that  time  stretched  along  its  river-banks  for  six 
miles.  Coronado  reported  that  he  found  here  a  beautiful  and 
fertile  valley,  under  high  cultivation  by  the  Indians. 

Visiting  Santa  F^  to-day  it  is  hard  to  realize,  ancient  as 
the  old  ruins  look,  that  one  can  really  be  gazing  on  walls 
which  Coronado  saw  nearly  three  centuries  and  a  half  ago. 

It  is  still  harder  to  realize  what  must  have  been  the 
oppressions  and  cruelties  which  have  brought  about  the 
present  degraded  and  wretched  condition  of  the  Indians  whose 
ancestors  formerly  occupied  and  cultivated  the  whole  valley. 
That  a  race  which,  over  three  hundred  years  ago,  had  reached 
comfort  and  success  in  agricultural  and  pastoral  occupations, 
should  be  to-day  an  abject,  supine,  wretched  race  of  beggars, 
is  a  melancholy  comment  on  the  injustice  they  have  received. 
They  did  not  sink  without  struggles. 

Santa  Fe,  being  the  seat  of  government,  was  always  the 
point  of  attack,  the  chief  centre  of  strife,  and  very  terrible 
scenes  have  been  enacted  there.  As  late  as  1837,  a  Mexican 
governor  who  had  ruled  with  great  severity  and  laid  oppres- 
sive and  unjust  taxes  on  the  Indians'  crops,  was  murdered  by 
them  under  circumstances  of  tragic  horror. 

The  struggle  which  took  place  at  this  time  was  the  last 
the  Indians  made.  They  were  soon  subdued,  and  remained 
peaceable  till  they  came,  with  the  rest  of  the  New  Mexico 
citizens,  under  the  government  of  the  United  States  in  1846. 


THE  OLDEST  AMERICAN  HOUSES. 


51 


There  is  still  standing  in  Santa  Fe  one  building  which  has 
been  the  home  of  the  most  prominent  persons,  and  the  scene 
of  the  most  important  events,  through  all  these  vicissitudes  of 
the  city  and  its  government.  It  is  still  called,  as  it  was  called 
three  hundred  years  ago,  "  The  Palace."  Anything  less  like 
a  palace  could  hardly  be  conceived  of.  It  is  a  low  adobe 
building,  one  story  high,  with  a  veranda  running  its  entire 
length.  It  makes  the  north  wall  of  the  plaza,  and  in  it 
are  still  the  governor's   home  and  all   the  offices  of  the 


The  Indian  House. 


government;  the  United  vStates  and  territorial  court-room, 
libraries.  Congress  halls,  etc.  It  has  been  so  often  repaired 
that  it  has  lost  much  of  its  ancient  look,  but  the  massive  walls 
and  heavy  hewn  beams  remain  unchanged,  and  will,  no  doubt, 
bear  their  mute  witness  to  its  antiquity  for  a  century  or  more 
to  come. 

The  plaza  on  which  it  fronts  is  two  and  a  half  acres 
square,  well-shaded,  provided  with  seats,  and,  commanding  a 
view  of  all  the  life  there  is  in  the  town,  it  is  the  best  possible 
point  from  which  to   gather  an  impression  of   Santa  F^. 


52 


'THE  OLDKST  ami;rican  HOUSKS. 


Sitting  there,  looking  at  the  governor's  old  palace  on  the 
north,  and  the  row  of  smart  Jew  shops  on  the  south,  at  the 
low  and  half-crumbling  mud-walls  and  houses,  and  the  big 
new  brick  and  wooden  buildings  cropping  out  here  and  there, 
and  overtopping  everything,  one  sees  an  effective  picture  of 
the  clashing  of  the  new  and  the  old. 

It  is  the  new  that  suffers  most  by  contrast.  The  long,  low 
adobes,  with  their  lines  of  absolute  simplicity,  and  their  soft 
yellow-gray  color,  seem  far  more  dignified  than  the  modern 


street  in  Santa  Fe. 


wooden  building,  or  even  the  substantial  brick  one,  with 
copings  and  facings  of  different  colors.  Contrasts  no  less 
marked  will  be  seen  in  the  passers-by  in  the  streets.  The 
successions  are  almost  fantastic. 

Close  on  the  heels  of  two  dapper  young  Americans  in  a 
buggy,  with  surveying  instruments  and  charts  in  their  hands, 
comes  a  Mexican  cart,  creeping  along,  drawn  by  oxen  ;  its 
wheels  are  circles  of   solid  wood,  sections  of  tree-trunks, 


THK  OIvDEJST  AMERICAN  HOUSES. 


53 


roughly  hewn,  with  an  irregularly-shaped  hole  in  the  centre, 
in  which  creaks  the  rough-hewn  axle. 

The  driver  is  in  rags  and  dirty,  but  he  wears  a  fine  broad- 
brimmed  sombrero,  with  a  roll  of  twisted  silver  wire  and  straw 
around  the  crown  ;  and  as  he  goes  he  sings  a  lilting  song  to 
himself,  or  whistles  softly,  or  takes  a  nap  in  his  cart,  and 
he  would  not  change  places  with  the  hard-working  young 
surveyors  if  he  could. 

Sauntering  through  the  plaza,  and  looking  curiously,  with 
furtive  glances,  at  strangers,  come  his  sweetheart  and  her 
friend.  They  wear  trailing  cotton  gowns,  sweeping  a  foot 
behind  them,  and  begrimed  half-way  up  the  skirt  with  the 
impalpable,  ineradicable  Santa  dust ;  they  would  feel 
humiliated  to  lift  them,  and  to  wear  them  short  would  be 
disgrace. 

To  be  unconscious  of  dirt,  superior  to  it,  is  dignity.  On 
their  heads  they  wear  gay  shawls,  black  with  gaudy  flowers, 
or  white  striped  like  a  rainbow.  With  one  hand  they  hold. the 
shawl-folds  firm  over  their  mouths,  their  soft,  but  passionate 
black  eyes  gleaming  out  of  the  triangular  opening  above,  as 
from  the  bars  of  a  prison- window.  They  are  used  to  only 
half-seeing  ;  for  the  few  windows  they  have  in  their  houses 
are  without  glass,  and  shut  off  from  the  street  by  jail-like 
gratings  of  close-set  wooden  rails. 

Behind  them  comes,  with  brisk  step  and  erect  carriage,  an 
American  woman,  the  wife  or  sister,  perhaps,  of  some  officer 
of  the  fort  garrison.  She  is  dressed  in  the  last  Paris  style  ; 
nothing  escapes  her  eyes ;  as  she  passes  the  sauntering 
Mexican  damsels  she  glances  disdainfully  at  their  dusty 
trains  ;  and  they  in  turn  speak  scornfully  to  each  other  of  her 
needless  uncovering  of  her  ankles. 

In  a  few  moments,  to  complete  the  human  panorama,  there 
go  stalking  along  outside  the  plaza  paling  a  group  of  Pueblo 
Indians,  bareheaded,  wrapped  in  scarlet  blankets.  The 
dignity  of  their  bearing  and  the  grace  of  their  drapery  put 
both  Mexican  and  American  to  shame. 


54 


THE  OI.DEST  AMERICAN  HOUSES. 


Nothing  can  be  finer.  Roman  senators  in  togas  never 
folded  their  arms  better,  or  stood  straighter.  They  make  for 
the  shops.  They  have  walked  all  the  way  in  from  their 
village,  twelve  miles  or  more,  having  made  a  little  money  by 
selling  some  of  their  pottery.  They  have  come  in  to  spend 
the  last  dollar  of  it. 

The  two  most  interesting  ruins  in  Santa       are  the  San 


on  a  foundation  of  small  stones  laid  in  mortar,  which  is  the 
reason  of  its  wonderful  preservation.  It  was  first  built  in 
1640,  was  partially  destroyed  by  the  Indians  in  their  revolt  in 
1680,  and  built  up  again  in  17 10.  The  interior  of  the  church 
is  still  in  tolerable  repair,  and  service  is  held  in  it. 

The  altitude  of  Santa  is  a  little  over  seven  thousand 
feet.  Its  winters  are  sunny  and  mild  ;  a  little  snow  falls 
occasionally,  but  it  never  lies  long,  and  the  air  is  exception- 
ally dry. 


San  Miguel. 


Miguel  Church  and  an 
old  building  opposite  it, 
called  the  Indian  House. 
This  is,  undoubtedly, 
the  oldest  house  in 
America.  It  is  a  rough, 
two-story  adobe,  with  a 
low,  narrow  door,  and 
with  windows  like  port- 
holes. The  logs  that 
hold  up  the  dirt  roof 
show  no  signs  of  decay, 
and  the  building  is 
yet  used  as  a  tenement- 
house.  The  church  is 
also  of  adobe,  but  built 


Hei^En  Hunt  Jackson. 


New  Mexico. 


It  was  midnight  when  we  were  landed  at  the  Santa  Fe 
station,  on  the  south  side  of  the  town.  The  moon  was  shining 
brightly.  In  a  moment  I  was  riding,  in  effect,  through  foreign 
streets.  They  were  narrow^  rocky,  lined  with  squatty, 
unlighted,  silent,  sombre  adobe  houses.  It  seemed  as  if  a 
gentle,  fun-making  earthquake  had  jostled  them  out  of  line, 
tilted  them  off  base,  started  them  down  grade,  perched  them 
in  awkwardness.  Un-American  !  Old !  I  cannot  conceive 
of  a  time  when  those  old  adobes  were  not  there,  sprouts  from 
the  adobe  soil,  as  it  were. 

The  next  day  after  I  arrived  at  Santa  Fe  I  asked  the  price 
of  a  large  plum  of  a  Mexican  dealer. 
Five  cents  ;  not  less  could  be." 

"  One  for  three  cents  ?  "  I  asked. 

With  scorn  the  dealer  replied,  "  No  three  cent  here  !  Five 
cents  lessest  money  here.  One  plum,  two,  three,  four  plum  — 
all  same  ;  five  cent." 

Seller,  buyer,  Spanish,  American  people  alike  have  here 
contempt  for  the  change-making  of  the  East,  all  declaring  that 
they  would  not  live  with  people  so  mean  as  to  bother  with 
change  for  five  cents. 

One  reason  why  provision-dealers  in  these  mountain  towns 
can  sell  their  wares  nearly  at  Eastern  prices  is,  because  in 
the  cool,  pure,  dry  air  of  New  Mexico,  foods  do  not  spoil. 
In  Santa  Fe  the  tradesman  delivers  you  a  slice  of  butter  as  he 
does  a  slice  of  cheese  with  no  fear,  even  in  July,  of  its 
melting,  and  it  reaches  the  consumer  in  August  as  firm  as  in 
December. 

Rents  average  somewhat  higher  in  this  little-understood 
territory  than  in  the  Mississippi  Valley,  but  the  fine  climate 
confers  on  your  apartments  unexpected  adaptability.  The 
comfort  possible  in  a  couple  of  adobe-rooms,  which  are  usually 


56 


NEW  MEXICO. 


large,  is  a  surprise  to  a  person  brought  up  in  the  North. 
Bivouacking  is  possible  every  day,  and  makes  indoor  comforts 
less  imperative.  You  can  go  picnicking  forty-eight  out  of 
fifty-two  weeks. 

Nowhere  are  sun  and  air  on  better  behavior.  There  is 
scarcely  a  summer  morning  when  a  light  pinon  fire  would  be 
oppressive  ;  scarcely  a  winter  noon  when  you  might  not 
dispense  with  all  fire. 

I  had  ever  at  hand,  ready-made,  the  means  for  keeping  a 
comfortable  bodily  temperature.  If  the  air  was  too  cool,  I 
moved  into  the  sunshine ;  if  unduly  warm,  into  the  shade, 
and  the  relief  was  always  immediate  and  complete. 

I  had  heard  that  the  people  were  foreign,  unapproachable 
and  unsympathizing  !  Instead  of  this,  in  the  most  cordial 
friendliness  they  began  at  once  to  advise  me  what  to  do,  and 
what  not  to  do,  to  get  the  full  value  of  my  visit. 

Mexican  ladies  are  chary  about  seeking  the  acquaintance 
or  friendship  of  visiting  States  people,  but  they  are  responsive 
to  your  advances  or  calls. 

If  you  ask  a  Mexican  gentleman  to  direct  you  to  some 
place,  he  will  not  only  give  you  the  information,  but  will  give 
time,  if  it  seems  to  him  necessary,  in  showing  you  to  the 
place  and  explaining  noticeable  features.  At  parting  he  will 
thank  you  for  the  pleasant  hour  you  have  given  him. 

A  Mexican  lady  acquaintance  cheerfully  spent  a  morning 
showing  me  from  one  place  to  another,,  looking  for  rooms, 
pointing  out  advantages  and  disadvantages,  advising  me  as 
to  prices  and  neighborhoods. 

When  it  was  known  that  I  intended  to  furnish  rooms, 
there  came  the  most  surprising  offers  of  loans  —  blankets, 
pillows,  chairs,  desk,  table. 

Beside  loans  I  was  offered  gifts,  as  a  cook-stove  from  an 
Alabamian  who  declared  that  she  couldn't  eat  stove-cooked 
food,  and  that  her  cook  would  use  nothing  but  the  fireplace, 
as  they  did  down  South. 

A  Spanish  friend  sent  word,     I  will  lend  you  my  Mexican 


NKW  MKXICO. 


57 


to  make  you  a  fireplace.  There's  one  in  that  angle  of  the 
wall.    He'll  open  it." 

They  close  fireplaces  in  a  free  and  easy  way  down  there. 
They  break  up  a  little  space  of  the  yard,  stir  in  water,  and  fill 
the  fireplace  to  the  jambs  with  the  plastic  clay.  The  mud  is 
then  smoothed  with  the  hand,  trowel-like,  finishing  with  mud 
whose  brown  has  been  lightened  with  coloring  matter. 

The  Mexican  that  was  loaned  to  me  cut  into  the  adobe 
packing  with  which  some  former  tenant  has  filled  the  fireplace, 
carried  it  into  the  yard,  brought  it  back  plastic,  smeared  it 
over  jambs,  hearth  and  mantelpiece,  finishing  all  smoothly  by 


A  Mexican  Street. 


the  pliable  hand.  It  was  all  by  primitive  methods,  but  the 
comfort  and  health  that  resulted  from  that  bright  little  adobe 
fireplace  will  make  the  name  of  one  Spanish  senora  a  sound  of 
music  to  my  heart. 

You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  that  the  people  of  New  Mexico 
are  lazy,  to  use  plain  English  ;  that  the  territory  is  the  land 
of  Mariana  —  the  land  of  to-morrow. 

Before  I  deny  or  confirm  that  statement,  let  me  ask,  Who 


58 


NKW  MKXICO. 


are  the  people  of  New  Mexico?  By  the  census  of  1890  it 
had  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabitants, 
without  counting  the  Indians  on  the  reservations.  The  area 
being  so  vast  and  the  population  so  scattered,  there  is  some 
difference  in  the  estimate. 

About  one-fourth  of  the  entire  population  are  Americans, 
and  a  large  part  of  these  were  born  in  New  Mexico.  The 
Americans  of  New  Mexico  are  the  equals  in  culture  and  in 
enterprise  of  the  Americans  in  any  part  of  the  United  States. 

Of  the  people  not  American,  about  one-eighth  are  of 
Spanish  descent  and  three-eighths  of  Indian  descent.  The 
other  half  are  of  a  mixed  race,  Spanish  and  Indians,  by  the 
Americans  commonly  called  greasers. 

To  say,  "The  rich  people  are  Spanish,  the  poor  are 
Mexicans,"  is  a  taunt  in  New  Mexico.  There  is  a  proud 
protest  in  many  minds  against  being  consigned  to  that 
bottomless  genealogical  pit  entitled  Mexican.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  have  met  many  people  of  pure  Spanish  blood  who 
resent  being  called  Spaniards,  claiming  with  pride  that  they 
are  Mexicans. 

If  people  mean  that  the  peasant  or  laboring  Mexican  is 
lazy,  my  observation  leads  me  to  contradict  the  statement. 
In  a  climate  so  invigorating  as  that  of  New  Mexico,  laziness 
is  hardly  possible.  Mexicans  are  indifferent  to  many  things 
about  which  the  people  of  the  United  States  are  anxious,  and 
for  which  they  struggle. 

Some  conditions  of  comfort  regarded  as  essential,  the 
Mexican  has  without  the  cost  of  labor  or  money.  A  large 
percentage  of  the  world's  work  is  done  to  keep  the  bodily 
temperature  within  its  narrow  normal  range.  In  New  Mexico 
this  work  is  not  needed,  for  there  is  but  little  extreme  cold  or 
extreme  heat  to  guard  against. 

"  Make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,"  has  small  significance 
in  a  land  where  there  are  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  of 
sunshine  in  the  year,  and  where  there  are  four  or  five  crops  of 
hay  to  the  season,  and  not  a  stack  or  a  mow  is  ever  mildewed. 


NEW  MKXICO. 


59 


The  fact  is  that  the  Mexican  peasants  are  workers  from 
childhood.  They  are  reserved  toward  Americans.  They  do 
not  importune  for  work,  but  I  never  asked  one  for  service  of 
any  kind  that  I  did  not  get  the  service  at  reasonable  price. 
There  is  no  task  that  a  Mexican  will  not  undertake,  CvSpecially 
if  he  can  reenforce  himself  by  the  assistance  of  a  burro. 

The  burro,  facetiously  called  ' '  the  sweet  singer  of  Mexico, ' ' 
has  a  range  of  only  two  notes,  but  these  are  powerful.  This 
is  what  heartless  people  say  of  the  burro.  "The  perfect 
playmate  for  boys  "  would  be  a  more  just  title. 

All  the  children  of  New  Mexico  learn  to  ride  burros,  which 


Burros  and  their  Burdens. 


are  as  docile  and  harmless  as  hobby-horses.  One  often  sees 
four  or  five  boys  on  one  of  these  patient  creatures,  or  two  or 
more  men,  their  legs  dangling  almost  to  the  ground.  It  is 
not  a  matter  for  surprise  that  brute  playmates  have  been 
expressed  to  New  York  and  other  Eastern  cities  for  children's 
use  in  learning,  without  danger,  saddle-riding  and  driving. 

The  loads  that  the  burros  will  carry  are  remarkable.  They 
take  the  place  of  market-wagons.  I  recall  a  caravan  of  a 
score  of  these  pack-animals  under  one  driver.  The}'  would 
come  to  town  laden  with  melons,  or  mission  grapes,  or  other 
wares,  bringing  loads  larger  and  heavier  than  themselves. 


6o 


NKW  MEXICO. 


Like  soldiers  under  drill,  they  would  range  themselves  in 
ranks  before  a  store  on  the  sidewalk.  Nobody  was  offended 
or  afraid,  for  they  were  cleanly  and  harmless. 

As  soon  as  one  was  unpacked  he  would  walk  off  into  the 
street,  where  he  was  sure  to  find  something  to  eat,  if  only  a 
bit  of  paper.  The  goat  is  no  more  nearly  omnivorous  than 
the  Mexican  burro. 

In  a  ride  of  fifteen  miles  out  of  Santa  Fe  I  once  met  two 
hundred  and  fifty-three  burros,  with  packs,  industriously 
plying  their  mouse-colored  legs.  The  loads  were  largely 
cedar  and  pinon  wood,  cut  and  split. 

I  have  seen  a  burro  carrying  a  cook-stove,  or  bringing  over 
mountain-roads  timbers  for  a  house.  When  they  are  carrying 
unbaled  hay  they  present  a  most  amusing  appearance.  One 
sees  the  great  ears  working,  a  tail  switching,  and  four  little 
hoofs  twinkling  ;  all  the  rest  is  a  moving  haystack. 

If  there  was  ever  a  flesh  and  blood  creature  capable  of 
living  on  a  straw  a  day,  it  is  the  hardy,  faithful  Mexican 
burro.  So  inexpensive  is  its  keeping,  with  its  unstable  habits 
of  life,  that  the  poorest  peasant  can  afford  the  comfort  of  this 
helpful  companion,  the  friend  of  the  mountaineer.  It  will 
obey  every  tone  of  the  master,  every  touch  of  his  hand.  But 
a  stranger  must  study  burros  well  to  get  their  best  service. 


Sarah  Winter  KeivI^ogg. 


Adobe 


I  have  frequently  watched  the  making  of  adobes  by  the 
natives  of  New  Mexico.  Adobes  are  sun-dried  bricks  about 
twelve  inches  long,  eight  wide  and  two  deep.  They  are  used 
where  the  States'  people  would  employ  kiln-seasoned  bricks 
and  stone,  and  for  many  purposes  for  which  lumber  is  used  in 
a  wooded  section.  Fences,  for  instance,  are  largely  made  of 
adobes  ;  corrals,  gardens,  orchards,  yards,  churches,  schools 
and  convents  are  enclosed  by  walls  built  of  adobes. 

These  mud  walls  are  often  seen  with  cacti  planted  thickly 
on  their  tops,  as  a  double  security  against  thieving  or  other 
purposes.  When  cacti  are  not  easily  procurable,  the  walls 
are  defended  by  broken  glass  bottles,  imbedded  in  the  top 
round  of  bricks  before  they  are  thoroughly  dry. 

On  lines  where  protection  is  not  called  for,  I  have  seen  the 
tops  of  these  fences  picturesquely  ornamented  with  bright 
flowering  plants,  such  as  scarlet  and  yellow  cacti,  the  wild 
sunflower,  the  Spanish  bayonet  and  the  Mexican  lily. 

When  a  house  is  to  be  built,  an  addition  to  be  made  to  one, 
an  oven  to  be  built  or  a  fireplace,  or  a  piece  of  ground  to  be 
enclosed,  the  enterprising  Mexican  assembles  his  helpers  as 
at  a  primitive  house-raising.  The  first  move  is  to  spade 
up  a  patch  of  ground,  often  a  portion  of  his  own  front  yard. 
Sometimes,  as  an  act  of  friendliness,  the  adobe-maker  gets 
permission  to  spade  up  a  neighbor's  yard,  or  a  vacant  lot  near 
the  building  site. 

The  ground  being  well  broken,  water  is  brought  on  and 
the  mixing  is  begun.  As  the  surface,  before  the  breaking, 
was  in  all  probability  but  carelessly  swept,  many  bits  not 
essential  to  good  bricks  get  mixed  in  the  mud  —  bits  of  glass, 
stone,  pottery,  tin,  wire,  chips,  rags,  etc.  But  it  is  not  in  the 
purpose  of  the  adobe-makers  to  use  other  materials  than  water 
and  the  soil  everywhere  found. 


62 


ADOBE. 


There  is  a  little  preliminary  mixing  with  hoe  and  spade, 
but  shortly  the  workers  strip  to  the  waist,  bare  the  feet,  roll 
above  the  knees  whatever  there  may  be  of  trousers  legs,  and 
walk  bravely  into  the  mud.  Standing  in  the  brown  mixture 
of  precisely  his  own  color,  the  expressionless,  statuesque 
Mexican  might,  by  an  easy  reach  of  fancy,  be  regarded  as  an 


Making  Adobe. 


outgrowth  of  the  adobe  mud.  Now  hands  and  feet  reenforce 
spade  and  hoe,  until  the  mixing  is  complete. 

Rough  wooden  molds  are  then  filled  by  the  hands  with  the 
mud,  and  scraped  level  by  the  hands.  The  molds  are  carried 
away  a  short  distance  and  the  molded  mud  is  tipped  out  on 
the  ground. 

There  the  adobes  lie  for  days  or  weeks,  sunning,  while  the 
owners  are  sunning  themselves  against  adobe  walls  centuries 
old,  it  may  be.    There  is  no  fear  of  the  blocks  being  spoiled 


ADOBE . 


63 


by  rain,  in  this  white  and  bright  land  where  the  sun  shines 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  the  year. 

The  mud-bricks  being  sufficiently  baked  on  one  side,  they 
are  turned  over,  and  in  time,  on  edge,  until  all  sides  and  edges 
have  had  the  effect  of  a  sufficient  period  of  direct  sunshine. 

An  Eastern  brickmaker  would  regard  these  adobe  bricks 
as  rough,  uneven,  unsightly.  But  they  have  their  merits. 
Their  making  does  not  call  for  any  skilled  labor  ;  they  can  be 
made  in  a  day,  dried  without  expense,  and  can  be  laid  by 
inexperienced  hands.  They  form  such  inexpensive  building 
material  that  the  poorest  man  can  have  his  own  house. 

I  have  seen  many  a  comfortable  adobe  house  of  four 
rooms,  plastered  well  inside  and  out,  erected  at  a  cost  of  five 
hundred  dollars. 

I  choose  the  adjective  comfortable  advisedly.  Without 
the  shelter  of  a  tree,  in  a  land  of  perennial  sunshine,  an  adobe 
house  furnishes  a  complete  protection  from  summer  heat, 
however  high  the  mercury  may  be.  The  earth  walls  never 
get  heated  through  in  such  a  climate  as  New  Mexico's; 
neither  do  they  ever  get  chilled  through. 

In  the  shelter  of  an  adobe  house,  you  can  forget  that  there 
is  winter  cold  or  summer  heat. 

The  Mexican  peasant  builds  an  unpretentious  lodge,  but 
for  comfort  it  will  stand  comparison  with  the  peasant-house  of 
any  land.  He  lays  the  adobes  on  the  bare  earth,  builds  up 
two  or  three  feet,  then  waits  some  days  to  insure  the  walls' 
dryness,  builds  a  few  more  feet  and  again  waits. 

When  his  wall  has  reached  a  height  of  ten  or  twelve  feet 
he  stops.  Then  he  lays  on  the  beams  or  rafters,  usually 
of  the  unbarked  trunks  of  the  pinon-trees,  not  fully  grown. 
The  pinon  is  the  mountain  pine  of  the  nut-bearing  variety. 

The  rafters  are  not  of  uniform  length.  Some  project  a  foot 
over  the  wall,  others  more  than  a  yard,  furnishing  a  place  for 
drying  plants,  or  for  the  storing  of  hay,  or  for  the  roosting  of 
Mexican  boys  ambitious  enough  to  climb  to  the  roof. 

These  rafters  are  the  support  for  the  thick  planks  or  boards 


64 


ADOBE. 


laid  closely  across,  which  are  to  receive  the  dry  adobe  dirt. 
This  is  piled  on,  to  the  thickness  of  about  thirty  inches.  This 
makes  a  dry,  warm  roof,  on  which,  in  the  course  of  time, 
chance  seeds  take  root,  causing  a  little  forest  of  plants  to 
spring  up  on  the  low  roofs. 

The  dirt  roofs  are  safe  as  long  as  the  timbers  are  sound, 
and  the  timbers,  being  measurably  protected  from  damp  and 
air,  remain  good  for  long  periods. 

But  ants  sometimes  find  out  the  rafters  of  a  house  and 
honeycomb  them,  making  no  visible  sign  of  their  presence. 
The  timber  then  suddenly  gives  way,  letting  down  the  mass 
of  earth,  imperilling  life  and  injuring  the  house's  belongings. 
The  brother  of  a  Santa  banker  once  lost  his  life  by  the 
falling  in  of  one  of  these  dirt  roofs.  Many  adobe  houses, 
however,  both  old  and  new,  have  roofs  of  a  better  character. 

One  might  think  that  the  adobe  house  would  be  a  perish- 
able structure.  In  a  land  of  rains,  of  much  freezing  and 
thawing,  it  might  be  ;  but  there  are  adobe  houses  in  New 
Mexico  and  Arizona  centuries  old,  and  as  good  as  when  first 
built. 

Some  adobe  houses  have  walls  eight  feet  thick.  These 
were  built  not  only  for  sure  protection  against  heat  and  cold, 
but  also  as  defences  against  Indians  and  other  enemies. 

The  adobe  house  is  the  outcome  of  ages  of  experience 
in  a  climate  of  peculiar  conditions.  The  Americans  have 
introduced  some  architectural  improvements,  but  they  have 
taught  the  Mexicans  little  of  real  value  in  their  climate. 

Even  the  wealthy  Mexican  of  to-day,  educated,  it  may  be, 
in  Washington  or  St.  Louis,  builds  preferably  an  adobe  house. 
If  one  is  built  on  a  stone  foundation,  with  hooded  windows, 
far-projecting  roof,  with  balconies  or  portals,  there  is  no  more 
comfortable,  weather-proof,  picturesque  dwelling.  For  a 
small  expenditure,  a  house  can  be  built  in  that  delightful 
climate  in  which  not  an  hour  of  discomfort  from  heat  or  cold 
need  be  spent  in  all  the  year. 

Sarah  Winter  Kki.i.ogg. 


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